Introducing 

of  mystery  fiction.    The   story   of 

Charles    Stafford,    a    distinguished 

,  •> 

airman  (among  other  things)  who 

.  -'• 

survived  his  own  inquest  and  lived 
to  baffle  Scotland  Yard,  is  told  with 
speed,  suspense,  action  and  a  *w- 
markable  denouement.  Here  is  a 
ix^ystery  guaranteed  to  try  the  wits 
of  the  most  astute  fan. 


PROPERTY  OF 

!    Mr.  Blow 
">od  story  .  .  . 
down 
o  pages 
-  Times 


YORK 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 


BY 
LYNTON  BLOW 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


AUTHORIZED   EDITION 


PRINTED   IN    THE 
UNITED   STATES   OF   AMERICA 


To 

MY  FRIEND 

R.  VASSALL-ADAMS 


2134526 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

All  the  characters  in  this  volume  are  purely  fictitious. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  CRASH 11 

II.    MURDER! 22 

III.  THE  CRIME  NEAR  TOTLAND  CORNER  .        33 

IV.  THE  SENSATION  AT  THE  INQUEST        .        45 
V.    THEORIES 57 

VI.  HUNT  VISITS  MOORLANDS     ...        67 

VII.  THE  CUT  TIRE  MYSTERY     ...        80 

VIII.    THE  ARREST 92 

IX.    ANOTHER  BODY 103 

X.  SIR  HENRY  DISAPPEARS        .         .         .112 

XI.  THE  DEAD  MAN'S  BOOTS     .         .        .125 

XII.  A  LOOK  ROUND  THE  GROUNDS    .        .      134 

XIII.  AT  THE  POND       .         .        .        .         .140 

XIV.  THE     CHIEF     CONSTABLE     SOLVES    A 

MYSTERY    .         .         .         .         .         .150 

XV.    PRO  PATRIA 161 

XVI.    DEVELOPMENTS 166 

XVII.  AT  THE  BUNGALOW      .        .        .        .174 

7 


8  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  THE  HUNT  BEGINS  IN  EARNEST          .  184 

XIX.  THE  SECRET  CODE       ....  193 

XX.  THE  RED  HOUSE 206 

XXI.  WHICH  OUGHT  TO  HAVE  BEEN  CON- 
CLUSION        215 

XXII.  HUNT  SEES  DAYLIGHT          .         .        .  225 

XXIII.  IN  THE  ISLAND 237 

XXIV.  THE  RACE  FOR  THE  SENIOR  TOURIST 

TROPHY 244 

XXV.  ZERO  HOUR 255 

XXVI.  CONFESSION    ......  259 

XXVII.  CONFESSION  (continued)      .        .        .  269 

XXVIII.  EXPIATION  283 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 


I 

THE  CRASH 

WILLIAM  POPE,  coastguard,  set  down  his  mug  on 
the  table,  drew  his  coat-sleeve  across  his  mouth, 
then  pushed  away  his  used  plate.  Delving  into  his 
pocket,  he  withdrew,  first  his  tobacco  pouch  and  pipe, 
and  then  a  copy  of  the  evening  paper.  Carefully 
loading  and  lighting  the  pipe,  he  began,  after  set- 
tling well  back  into  the  depths  of  his  not  altogether 
uncomfortable  chair,  to  glance  over  the  card  of  the 
next  day's  race  meeting. 

It  was  a  lonely  job  this,  watching  night  after 
night  for  distress  signals  that  seldom  went  up;  and 
for  smugglers  who  never  seemed  to  smuggle,  at  any 
rate  not  around  this  part  of  the  coast. 

After  a  lightning  survey  of  the  whole  programme 
he  decided  to  have  another  look  around  before  going 
more  carefully  in  the  matter  of  picking  the  winner 
of  the  3.10,  the  Big  Race  of  the  day. 

He  had  soon  seen  that  this  was  going  to  be  a 
much  harder  task  than  he  had  at  first  anticipated 
— seventeen  runners,  and  half  of  them  had  not  been 
seen  out  this  season ;  an  hour's  work  at  the  very  least 
before  he  could,  from  out  of  the  chaos  of  Weights, 
Jockeys,  Distances,  Form,  and  Latest  London  Bet- 
ting, restore  order  and  find  the  "Certainty"  the 
Handicapper  and  Press  Correspondents  had  over- 
looked. 

11 


12  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

So,  stretching  himself,  he  rose,  and  went  to  the 
door  and  out  on  to  the  short,  tufted  grass  that  covers 
the  headland. 

Had  it  been  daytime  instead  of  2  A.M.,  he  would, 
on  opening  the  door,  have  been  confronted  by  the 
tall,  white  cliffs  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  with  a  view  of 
the  Solent,  while  nearer,  just  across  Totland  Bay, 
The  Needles,  standing  gaunt  and  detached  from  the 
mainland,  like  sentinels  guarding  the  narrow  chan- 
nel. 

A  treacherous  part  of  the  coast,  this,  as  all  mar- 
iners know,  for,  hidden  by  the  waves,  but  still  only 
just  below  the  surface,  wait  cruel,  jagge4  rocks, 
eager  for  the  ship  that  deviates  but  slightly  from 
her  course. 

However,  as  the  moon,  though  full,  was  hidden  at 
that  moment  by  heavy  rain-clouds,  all  he  could  see 
that  night,  or  rather  early  morning,  was  the  glow 
from  the  lighthouse  snuggled  at  the  base  of  The 
Needles,  and  the  more  powerful  shaft  of  light  from 
the  station  at  St.  Catherine's  Point,  flashing  inter- 
mittently across  the  placid  waters  of  Bournemouth 
Bay. 

Moving  to  the  front  of  his  hut,  he  could  see,  some- 
what to  his  right,  a  solitary  pin-prick  of  light  from 
somewhere  on  the  Swanage  shore — and  the  glittering 
portholes  of  a  liner  far  out  in  the  English  Channel. 
All  was  well  at  sea,  it  seemed,  so  he  moved  on  his 
little  circuit. 

Again,  from  the  right-hand  side  of  his  little  out- 
post, he  could  see  but  a  few  scattered  lights  from 
Bournemouth,  and  the  beam  from  the  headlamps  of 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  13 

a  car  far  away  on  what  he  took  to  be  the  main  Lon- 
don-Bournemouth road. 

From  the  back  of  his  hut,  across  the  broad  expanse 
of  Christchurch  Harbour,  he  could  just  make  out 
the  ancient  Priory,  caught  by  a  faint  beam  of 
moonlight  that  broke  through  the  now  receding 
clouds. 

Feeling  satisfied  that  all  was  well,  after  calling  to 
his  dog  Spot,  who  was  busily  engaged  in  scratching 
at  some  rabbits'  holes,  he  turned,  to  re-enter  his  little 
station,  there  to  settle  in  brighter  surroundings  the 
question  of  which  horse  should  carry  his  money  in  the 
3.10  at  Newmarket. 

Withdrawing  an  envelope  from  an  inner  pocket 
and  producing  a  pencil  from  behind  his  ear,  he  set 
about  to  consider  the  question  in  what  he  thought  to 
be  the  most  scientific  manner. 

"  'Golden  Glory,'  "  he  wrote,  "  'Jockey,  J.  Ross. 
4  yrs.  9  st.  2  Ib.  Rand  2nd  to  Rendezvous,  Hurst 
Park.  August  8th.  .  .  .  Not  been  out  this  season.' 
I  remember  that  race,"  he  ruminated.  "Let  me  down 
then,  the  blighter.  Well,  Rendezvous's  not  in  the 
3.10,  anyhow,  that's  one  good  point." 

He  pondered  over  Golden  Glory's  chances  awhile. 

"I  dunno !"  he  muttered  at  length.  "I  don't  alto- 
gether fancy  it,  once  bitten,  twice  shy. 

"Let's  see" — drawing  his  finger  down  the  list  of 
runners.  "Scarecrow — don't  know  it,  don't  like  it's 
name  either. 

"Sweet  Olive,  Starlight  4th,  Eagle's  Claw,  Jimmy 
— so  Jimmy's  running  again,  is  he?  I  thought  his 
career  was  ended  last  season  .  .  .  sprained  tendon, 
I  thought.  Must  be  wrong,  I  expect! 


14  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Let's  see  now.  Rose  of  Lincoln,  Income  Tax, 
Mistake.  Good!  Here's  another  old  favourite — 
Zadwig. 

"Never  shall  forget  when  he  won  the  Leger,  five 
shillings  each  way  I  'ad  on  'im.  An'  didn't  we  have 
a  night  out?  Not  'arf !  Tight  as  lords,  the  whole 
gang  on  us !" 

He  grimaced  at  the  recollection  of  his  reception 
home  that  evening.  It  was  decidedly  chilly,  to  say 
the  very  least  of  it. 

"Well,  that  was  holiday-time,"  he  said  aloud,  as 
if  an  explanation  was  desirable.  "That  was  diff'rent. 
No  time  for  drinkin'  now.  All  up  with  your  job  if 
they  caught  you  squiffy  on  this  beat.  Quite  right 
too.  Work  when  you  works  an'  drink  when  you 
play.  That's  what  I  holds  with ! 

"Now  where  was  I?  Oh,  yes!  Zadwig,  wasn't 
it?  That's  right.  Now  let's  see.  .  .  .  Jockey,  L. 
Coombs.  .  .  .  Bright  lad,  that  Coombs.  Been  out 
of  luck  lately,  though." 

Old  Pope  worked  on,  while  time  flew  by  as  on 
wings. 

Then,  from  out  of  the  silence  of  the  night  came  a 
sound,  indistinct  at  first,  but  rapidly  getting  louder, 
clearer-defined,  and  nearer. 

"What's  that,  I  wonder?"  muttered  old  Pope. 
"Sounds  like  an  aeroplane !" 

Dropping  the  paper,  he  rose  hurriedly  and  pulled 
open  the  door.  Still  louder  now,  and  almost  over- 
head! 

Looking  up,  Pope  saw  it  at  once — a  small  white 
monoplane,  showing  port  and  starboard  lights,  fly- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  15 

ing  very  fast  and  rather  low;  right  across  the  pale, 
luminous  face  of  the  moon. 

"That's  young  Dennis  Evans,"  he  said  aloud. 
"Silly  young  fool.  What  the  'ell's  he  doing  up 
there  at  this  time  of  night  ?  He's  got  all  day  to  play 
about  in,  but  that's  not  enough  for  the  likes  of  him. 
All  the  same,  these  young  chaps,"  he  grumbled, 
"must  turn  night  into  day. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  no  concern  of  mine — but  I'd 
rather  it  be  him  than  me — flyin'  out  to  sea  all  alone !" 

With  a  last  glance  at  the  fast  receding  lights  of 
the  'plane,  the  old  fellow  went  back  to  his  chair — 
and  the  3.10. 

The  sound  had  almost  faded  by  now. 

Picking  up  the  paper  again,  he  started  to  con- 
sider anew  the  chances  of  Redskin  in  the  "Big  'Un." 

"8  st.  7  Ib.  .  .  .  Favourably  weighted,"  he 
thought.  "A  furlong  more  than  he's  used  to, 
though;  I  wonder  if  that  will  be  his  undoing?  Oh! 
Crane  up.  An  old  hand.  Hasn't  had  too  good  a 
season — perhaps  this  is  where  he  is  going  to  break 
his  run  of  bad  luck.  Hello!  What's  that?  Could 
swear  my  lamp  flickered. 

"No!     It's  steady  enough.     Funny,  though. 

"There  it  is  again. 

"No !  It's  outside  ...  a  distress  rocket,  it  looks 
like!" 

Paper  in  hand,  he  rushed  to  the  door,  flung  it 
open,  and  stepped  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  at  once  the  cause  of  his  anx- 
iety. 

A  huge  ball  of  fire  seemed  to  be  coming  across 
the  harbour  towards  him. 


16  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

It  was  an  aeroplane — in  flames! 

"Good  God!  Young  Evans!"  he  gasped.  "He 
must  have  circled!" 

Nearer  now,  almost  overhead. 

The  engine  spluttered — then  stopped. 

Instantly  the  'plane  banked  over  and  began  a 
dizzy,  mad,  uncontrollable  plunge  earthwards. 

As  it  dived,  great  blobs  of  fire  fell  from  it,  and  on 
each  twist  and  spin  the  flames  blazed  up  the  fiercer, 
for  the  leaking  tanks  sprayed  more  and  more  petrol 
out  over  the  whole. 

It  was  still  up  1,500  to  2,000  feet  when  Pope 
first  noticed  the  disaster,  and  it  fell  this  distance 
at  an  almost  incredible  speed,  leaving  a  trail  of  black 
fumes  behind  to  catch  and  reflect  the  brilliance  of  the 
flames. 

Then,  with  a  resounding  crash — almost  enough  to 
split  the  ear-drums — it  hit  the  ground,  throwing  out 
a  ring  of  blazing  petrol  over  the  grass  for  twenty 
yards  or  more  around,  and  shooting  a  cascade  of 
sparks  high  into  the  air. 

For  several  moments  Pope  stood  petrified,  awed 
by  the  intensity  of  the  flames. 

Then,  pulling  himself  together,  he  ran  the  two 
hundred  yards  or  so  to  the  'plane. 

But  he  could  do  nothing.  He  felt  the  hot  air  on 
his  face  when  a  good  hundred  yards  away,  and  the 
nearest  he  could  approach  to  it  was  barely  another 
fifty. 

For  a  while  the  wreckage  burned  with  redoubled 
fury  as  one  of  the  tanks  burst  with  a  devastating 
roar.  Then  they  settled  down  to  eat  themselves  out 
in  a  little  less  terrifying  manner. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  17 

Pope  had  realised  from  the  first  that  little  he  could 
do  would  prove  of  the  slightest  use.  If  Evans  was 
in  the  'plane,  his  body  must  have  been  burned  to  a 
cinder  long  ago. 

However,  it  was  his  duty  to  summon  aid  as  soon 
as  possible,  so  he  retraced  his  footsteps  back  to  his 
hut  and  speedily  got  into  communication  by  'phone 
with  Bournemouth  police  station. 

The  Superintendent  himself  happened  to  be  in 
the  office  at  the  time  and  the  call  was  immediately 
switched  through  to  him. 

"What's  this?"  he  said.  "Coastguard  Station. 
Hengistbury  Head.  'Plane  down  in  flames.  Yes, 
I've  got  it  all  right — I'll  let  the  fire  brigade  know 
and  we'll  be  along  at  once!" 

Pope  replaced  the  receiver  and  went  back  again 
to  the  scene  of  the  crash. 

Although  the  heat  was  not  quite  so  terrific  now, 
he  could  get  no  nearer  than  before,  as  the  grass,  due 
to  the  scorching  to  which  it  had  been  subjected,  had 
become  ignited  and  was  giving  off  choking,  acrid 
fumes  and  banks  of  heavy  smoke  which  absolutely 
defied  penetration. 

After  a  few  more  moments  spent  gazing  towards 
the  half-hidden  wreckage,  Pope  turned  to  go  part 
of  the  way  to  meet  the  Superintendent. 

At  that  moment,  however,  another  figure  appeared 
coming  hurriedly  towards  him  from  out  of  the  pall. 

For  a  few  moments  he  thought  it  might  be  Dennis 
Evans.  "Has  he  been  lucky  enough  to  escape  by 
parachute?"  he  wondered. 

But  it  was  only  the  tenant  of  a  near-by   farm 


18  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

who  had  been  awakened  by  the  crash  and  immedi- 
ately set  out  to  render  what  aid  he  could. 

Within  another  ten  minutes  the  two  were  joined 
by  a  sergeant  and  a  constable  from  Christchurch, 
who  had  seen  the  reflection  of  the  blaze  in  the  sky 
and  hurried  over  by  motor-boat  to  investigate. 

"A  sad  business,  Pope,  I  fear,"  said  the  sergeant 
as  he  drew  near.  "Not  a  dog's  chance  to  get  out 
of  there." 

"No,"  agreed  the  coastguard.  "Unless  he  has 
managed  to  escape  by  parachute." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  pointed  out  the  farmer.  "He's 
had  ample  time  to  get  along  here  by  now.  No !  I'm 
afraid  we  shall  find  all  that's  left  of  him  in  there" — 
indicating  the  debris. 

"If  he  jumped,  there's  still  a  chance  that  he  has 
been  carried  out  over  the  cliff  edge  by  the  wind,  isn't 
there?"  inquired  Pope,  still  sticking  to  his  parachute 
theory,  " — or  even  fallen  short  and  landed  in  the 
harbour.  Perhaps  he's  marooned  on  one  of  those 
mud-flats." 

"Possibly,"  acceded  the  sergeant.  "Let's  hope  so. 
Anywhere  rather  than  helpless  in  those  flames,"  he 
added  with  a  shudder. 

"Ah!  Here  comes  Superintendent  Walker  with 
the  fire  extinguishers."  Old  Pope's  sharp  eyes  had 
caught  and  recognised  the  approaching  figures  long 
before  the  others  were  aware  of  them.  "Now  we 
shall  soon  know  one  way  or  the  other." 

The  Superintendent  drew  close,  panting  hard,  fol- 
lowed by  a  little  army  of  firemen. 

"Couldn't  get  the  engine  along  here,"  he  gasped. 
"Hell  of  a  place  to  get  out  to,  this!" 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  19 

"Never  mind,  sir,"  said  the  Christchurch  sergeant. 
"It  would  be  too  late  now  even  if  you  had  it — the 
grass  is  mostly  out  and  the  chemicals  are  the  only 
things  that  will  have  any  effect  on  the  wreckage." 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  the  Superintendent,  look- 
ing at  the  debris.  "No  idea  who  it  is,  have  you,  ser- 
geant?" he  asked. 

"Yes!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Pope  recognised  the 
'plane.  It  has  been  over  here  once  before  to-night. 
Says  it's  young  Evans  from  Bournemouth,  and  this," 
pointing  to  the  twisted  metal  work,  "his  little  white 
monoplane." 

"Good  heavens!"  ejaculated  the  Superintendent. 
"Are  you  positive?  Why,  only  last  week  he  tried  to 
persuade  me  to  go  up  with  him  for  a  short  trip,"  he 
continued  sadly,  "and  now — this!" 

While  the  two  stood  talking,  the  captain  of  the 
fire  brigade  and  his  men  had  hurriedly  donned  their 
respirators,  and  now,  armed  with  the  extinguishers, 
they  advanced  towards  the  flames.  In  spite  of  their 
most  strenuous  efforts,  however,  it  was  a  full  half- 
hour  before  they  could  quell  the  fire  enough  to  allow 
the  others  to  approach. 

The  sergeant  was  the  first  to  draw  close,  and,  after 
one  look  at  the  debris,  he  withdrew.  "I  don't  know 
much  about  flying,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  positive — 
whatever  Pope  says  to  the  contrary — that's  not  the 
wreckage  of  a  monoplane — and  I'm  pretty  certain 
it's  a  'Moth.'  " 

"Then  there  must  have  been  two  of  them,"  began 
Bope  excitedly,  "and  if  it's  not  the  single-winged 
'plane  lying  here,  young  Evans  is  safe.  Thank 
goodness  for  that,  for  although  I  don't  altogether 


20  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

hold  with  some  of  his  ways,  I  can't  say  as  I've  ever 
met  a  nicer  fellow.  No  snobbery  about  him — and 
rich  too." 

"You're  right  there,"  seconded  the  sergeant.  "A 
rattlin'  good  sort  I've  always  found  him  myself." 

"Then  if  it  isn't  Evans,  who  is  it?"  asked  the 
Superintendent. 

"Perhaps  it's  an  army  'plane,"  suggested  Pope. 
"They  do  a  lot  of  night  flying  over  these  parts,  you 
know.  Come  from  an  aerodrome  out  Winchester 
way,  so  I'm  told." 

"That's  an  idea  anyhow,"  said  the  Superintendent. 
"Get  on  the  'phone  to  them  and  find  out  if  they're 
flying  to-night." 

They  repaired  to  the  office,  and  within  a  very  few 
minutes  Pope  had  obtained  the  information  they 
sought. 

No  army  'planes  were  up  in  the  district  that  night. 

"I  thought  not,"  said  the  sergeant.  "That's  a 
private  'Moth'  'plane." 

"I  wonder  if  we  ought  to  ring  up  Sir  Charles  Staf- 
ford's place  out  Lymington  way?"  the  Superintend- 
ent asked.  "He  has  a  'Moth,'  I  know." 

"I'll  try  if  you  like,  sir,"  replied  the  coastguard. 
"Perhaps  I  can  find  out  from  the  butler  without  dis- 
turbing Sir  Charles." 

"Righto !  Have  a  go  at  it.  Even  if  we  do  fetch 
him  from  his  bed,  the  information  will  be  worth  it. 
I  say,  sergeant,  the  flames  are  almost  out  now — let's 
go  and  see  if  they've  found  anything." 

The  two  men  left  the  hut  and  walked  over  to  the 
scene  of  the  disaster  once  more. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  21 

The  brigade  captain  came  part  of  the  way  to  meet 
them. 

"It's  a  dreadful  sight,  Superintendent,"  he  began. 
"We  can  see  the  remains  of  a  body  at  the  bottom 
of  the  wreckage,  but  the  fuselage  is  still  much  too 
hot  to  let  us  drag  it  clear!" 

It  was  indeed  a  dreadful  sight;  the  little  group 
could  see  it  all  too  well. 

And  as  they  stood  there,  helpless,  waiting  for  the 
glowing  metal  to  cool,  old  Pope  came  running  up. 

"I  believe  you're  right,  Superintendent,"  he 
shouted.  "A  'Moth'  left  Lymington  at  three  o'clock 
this  morning  bound  for  Plymouth.  Sir  Charles  him- 
self was  piloting  it,  with  Mrs.  Evans  as  his  pas- 
senger !  The  Head  would  be  directly  on  their  route !" 


II 

MURDER! 

INSPECTOR  HUNT,  of  the  Criminal  Investigation  De- 
partment, New  Scotland  Yard,  had  spent  an  exceed- 
ingly restless  night. 

After  a  fast  run  down  in  his  car  to  Princetown 
Prison,  where  he  had  hoped  to  obtain  an  important 
statement  from  a  convict,  he  had,  instead  of  con- 
tinuing his  journey  back  to  Town  that  night,  re- 
turned by  the  lower  route,  breaking  his  drive  at 
Bournemouth  to  pay  a  long  overdue  visit  to  his  mar- 
ried sister  who  resided  in  the  Southbourne  district. 

Although  he  had  retired  to  bed  that  night  feeling 
dog-tried,  he  had,  to  his  annoyance,  only  remained 
asleep  for  what  seemed  the  space  of  a  few  minutes 
before  he  had  awakened  rather  suddenly  and  ap- 
parently without  cause. 

Once  awake,  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  get  off 
to  sleep  again,  as  on  each  occasion  that  he  managed 
to  settle  comfortably  he  was  disturbed  by  the  sound 
of  a  vehicle  bumping  and  rattling  over  the  unfinished 
road  a  few  feet  beneath  his  window. 

At  last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  It  was  just 
getting  light  outside,  so  he  decided  to  dress  and  go 
for  an  early  stroll. 

Silently  completing  his  toilet,  he  crept  down  the 
stairs,  unlocked  the  back  door,  and  went  out. 

Although  it  was  late  spring — May  23rd,  to  be 

22 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  23 

precise — there  seemed  quite  a  nip  in  the  air,  and 
the  grass  on  the  wasteland  was  white  with  frost. 

Soon,  after  turning  a  corner  in  the  road,  Hunt 
saw,  drawn  up  on  the  grass  edge  by  the  roadside, 
the  vehicles  that  had  disturbed  his  night's  rest. 
Three  in  all — a  fire-engine,  and  two  private  cars. 

Looking  towards  the  headland  for  the  first  time 
Hunt  saw  where  the  trouble  lay. 

A  thick  bank  of  smoke  hung  over  a  hollow,  and 
little  bursts  of  flame  were  visible  from  time  to  time. 
He  noticed,  though,  that  each  spurt  was  less  active 
than  its  predecessor.  The  firemen  seemed  to  have 
the  outbreak  well  in  hand. 

As  it  was  still  some  hours  before  breakfast-time 
Hunt  decided  to  take  a  stroll  over  the  headland  and 
ascertain  the  nature  of  the  outbreak. 

He  had  picnicked  on  the  Head  on  many  occa- 
sions, and  was  puzzled  by  the  fire,  as  he  could  remem- 
ber no  building  in  the  vicinity  except  the  Coastguard 
Station,  which  he  could  see  was  intact. 

A  sharp  walk  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  duration 
brought  him  to  the  scene.  Immediately  he  saw  the 
tangled  wreckage  he  divined  the  cause  of  his  abrupt 
awakening. 

As  he  drew  near  to  the  little  knot  of  waiting  men 
he  was  recognised  by  Superintendent  Walker,  who 
drew  apart  from  the  others  and  went  forward  to 
meet  him.  "Well,  bless  my  soul  if  it  isn't  Inspector 
Hunt,"  he  began.  "Fancy  meeting  you  down  here — 
especially  at  this  ungodly  hour." 

"You're  to  blame  for  the  hour,  Superintendent. 
How  do  you  expect  a  man  to  sleep  when  you  drive 


24  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

your  ramshackle  old  Ford  by  his  window  at  fifty 
miles  an  hour?  But,"  he  added  in  a  more  serious 
tone,  "what's  the  trouble  here?" 

"It's  hardly  in  your  line,  Inspector,"  answered 
Walker,  "but  no  doubt  you'll  be  shocked  to  know 
that  in  there,  we  believe,  are  the  remains  of  Sir 
Charles  Stafford  and  a  Mrs.  Evans!" 

"Sir  Charles  Stafford!"  echoed  Hunt.  "Surely 
not  the  Sir  Charles  Stafford?" 

"Unfortunately!"  replied  Walker.  "But  never- 
theless true,  I'm  afraid!" 

Sir  Charles  Stafford! 

In  a  flash  the  exploits  of  Sir  Charles  leapt  vividly 
into  Hunt's  mind. 

Barely  a  year  ago  he  had  startled  the  world  by 
a  daring,  successful,  double  crossing  of  the  Atlantic 
— alone — and  in  one  of  the  smallest  of  light  'planes. 

These  had  been  the  culminating  flights  of  a  series 
that  he  had  made  which  had  helped  considerably  to 
raise  Britain's  prestige  in  the  air  to  a  point  not 
hitherto  attained. 

And  now — disaster ! — And  by  a  cruel  trick  of  fate, 
he,  who  had  conquered  dense  jungles  and  mighty 
oceans,  high  perilous  mountain  ranges  and  torrential 
tropical  storms,  had  met  his  end  on  a  clear,  calm 
morning  in  his  native  country. 

And  Mrs.  Evans  too. 

He  had  seen  both  her  and  her  husband  several 
times,  though  he  did  not  know  them  to  speak  to. 

With  a  sickening  feeling  in  his  heart,  he  looked 
again  towards  the  wreckage.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  all  that  remained  of  the  beautiful  wife  of  young 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  25 

Dennis  Evans  was  the  hideous,  distorted  body  they 
could  already  see,  or  was  it,  even  more  horribly  mu- 
tilated, lying  still  lower  in  the  funeral  pyre? 

At  last  the  metal-work  seemed  to  have  cooled 
enough  to  allow  the  firemen  to  remove  the  first  body 
from  the  twisted  mass  of  wires  and  broken,  half- 
burned  struts  that  held  it  prisoner. 

Hunt,  although  he  had  during  his  career  as  a 
police  officer  seen  death  in  many  forms,  could  scarcely 
suppress  a  shudder  at  the  ghastly  scene  now  being 
enacted  before  his  eyes. 

Soon,  however,  the  body  —  that  of  a  man  —  was 
lifted  clear,  reverently  laid  out  on  a  stretcher  and 
covered  with  a  sheet. 

Again  the  firemen  returned  to  the  wreckage;  the 
fuselage  was  soon  hacked  asunder  and  the  burned 
fragments  —  charred  almost  to  a  powder  —  that  had 
fallen  in  a  heap  on  top  of  the  half-buried  engine, 
removed. 

But  no  other  body  did  they  find. 

Within  a  few  minutes  of  the  conclusion  of  the 
search  Sir  Charles'  chauffeur-mechanic  arrived  with 
the  butler.  He  seemed  to  pale  slightly  and  sway  at 
the  sight  of  the  body  on  the  stretcher. 

The  Superintendent  went  over  to  them.  "We  have 
recovered  a  body  from  the  wreckage,"  he  began,  "and 
we  assume  this  is  Sir  Charles'  'plane  —  though  we 
hope  against  hope  we  are  wrong.  Are  you  quite 
sure  Mrs.  Evans  was  in  this  machine?  Mr.  Evans 
is  reported  to  have  passed  over  here  just  before  the 
crash.  Might  she  not  have  been  with  him?" 

"No,"  answered  the  mechanic.  "I  am  positive  that 
Mrs.  Evans  was 


DOBRIN  LIBRARIES 


X/./rrarixo 


26  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Had  she  a  parachute?"  asked  Hunt. 

"No!"  was  the  reply.  "Sir  Charles  had,  but 
neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Evans  ever  carried  one." 

"In  that  case  it's  rather  remarkable  that  Sir 
Charles  didn't  attempt  to  use  it,  isn't  it?"  commented 
Walker. 

"It  is — unless,"  replied  Hunt,  "unless  he  refused 
to  jump  and  leave  Mrs.  Evans  to  her  fate." 

"If  that's  the  explanation — and  it's  feasible — that 
would  be  the  bravest  thing  that  even  Tie  ever  did — 
and  his  life  was  made  up  with  doing  things  few  other 
men  would  attempt,"  said  the  Superintendent. 

"In  that  case,  where  is  the  body  of  Mrs.  Evans? 
is  the  question  we've  got  to  answer,"  put  in  the  ser- 
geant. 

Here  Hunt  again  addressed  the  mechanic  Bailey. 
"Is  there  any  way  in  which  you  can  positively  iden- 
tify this  'Moth'  as  Sir  Charles'?  It's  no  use  at- 
tempting to  form  any  theories  until  we  are  absolutely 
sure  of  our  ground." 

The  man  considered  for  a  moment.  "Yes,"  he 
answered,  "I  can  tell  you  after  I've  had  a  look  at 
the  engine.  Several  parts  of  it  are  absolutely  special 
fittings.  There'd  be  no  chance  of  any  other  'plane 
having  them." 

A  quick  glance  at  the  engine  sufficed.  "There's 
no  doubt  about  it,"  he  announced.  "This  is  Sir 
Charles'  machine." 

"Well,  now  we  know  definitely,  the  next  thing  to 
do  is  to  ring  up  Plymouth  and  get  them  to  break 
the  news  to  young  Evans.  It'll  be  a  blow  for  him, 
no  doubt.  I'm  glad  I've  not  got  to  do  it.  He  was 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  27 

devoted  to  his  wife,  Inspector,"  said  the  Superintend- 
ent. "And  having  done  that,"  he  added,  "we  must 
try  to  find  the  body." 

Old  Pope  soon  got  the  necessary  connection,  and 
was  talking  to  the  caretaker  at  the  aerodrome.  The 
result  of  the  call  was  in  a  way  disappointing;  Dennis 
Evans  had  not  yet  arrived. 

"That's  extraordinary,  isn't  it?"  remarked  the 
Superintendent.  "It's  just  on  half -past  five,  I  be- 
lieve." He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Yes!  your  clock 
seems  right  by  this — 5.30  exactly.  Plymouth  to 
Lymington."  He  looked  at  the  map  on  the  station 
wall.  "Let's  see  how  far  he  had  to  fly." 

"One  hundred  and  fifty  miles,"  answered  Bailey. 
"I  saw  Sir  Charles  marking  out  the  route  yester- 
day." 

The  Superintendent  had  found  a  pencil  and  six- 
inch  rule. 

"I  only  make  it  one  hundred  and  twenty,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"Yes,"  replied  Bailey.  "That's  all  it  is  in  a 
straight  line;  but  Sir  Charles  was  not  taking  the 
long  sea  hops  from  Lymington  to  Swanage  and 
Swanage  to  Torquay.  He  intended  to  follow  the 
coastline.  I  know  Mr.  Evans  would  take  the  same 
route." 

"Well — say  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  What 
would  that  little  'bus  of  Evans'  do?" 

"It's  pretty  fast,"  admitted  Bailey.  "It  should 
average  a  good  hundred  miles  per  hour." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  Superintendent.  "In  that 
case  he's  an  hour  overdue." 

"Probably  turned  back  when  he  missed  the  others," 


28  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

suggested  Hunt,  "in  which  case,  if  he  hasn't  given 
up  the  search  and  gone  on  again  he'll  soon  be  here." 

"That's  about  it,"  agreed  Walker.  "Now  let's  get 
busy  and  see  if  we  can't  find  out  what  has  become 
of  Mrs.  Evans.  I'm  afraid  she  jumped  without  a 
parachute,  and  in  all  probability  she  fell  into  the 
harbour." 

Those  who  are  at  all  familiar  with  the  district 
will  realise  that  this  was  the  most  likely  explana- 
tion, as  the  headland  at  the  point  where  the  crash 
took  place  is  barely  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  width, 
bounded  on  its  southern  side  by  the  English  Chan- 
nel, and  on  the  northern  by  the  broad  expanse  of 
Christchurch  Harbour. 

The  distance  across  the  harbour  in  a  straight  line 
running  from  the  scene  of  the  crash  towards  Lyming- 
ton  was  a  full  two  miles,  and  it  was  apparent  that 
the  Superintendent  had  set  himself  no  mean  task. 

However,  the  little  party  split  up  and  set  to  work 
in  a  willing  manner.  Mr.  Jones,  the  farmer,  had 
to  go  back  to  his  duties,  and  Pope  was  told  off  to 
remain  near  the  'phone  in  case  any  news  should  come 
through  concerning  Evans. 

The  fire  brigade  captain  and  his  men  were  set  to 
work  to  search  systematically  the  bushes  and  grass 
covering  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  or  so  of 
ground  between  the  debris  and  the  water's  edge. 

A  constable,  who  had  arrived  some  time  previously 
with  a  police  surgeon  and  some  ambulance  men  (who 
had  since  removed  the  body),  was  posted  to  watch 
over  the  wreckage. 

Hunt  joined  the  other  little  party,  made  up  of  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  29 

sergeant  and  constable  from  Christchurch,  Bailey, 
Sturman  the  butler — and,  of  course,  the  Superin- 
tendent. 

The  sergeant  started  the  engine,  and  the  little  boat 
drew  slowly  away  from  the  shore. 

There  are  several  reed-covered  mud-flats  in  the 
harbour,  and  by  the  time  these  had  all  been  thor- 
oughly gone  over  Hunt  discovered  that  he  would 
have  to  hurry  to  get  back  to  his  sister's  in  time  for 
breakfast. 

The  other  party  had  combed  their  ground  long 
since  and  were  gathered  around  Pope's  hut.  Neither 
group  had  met  with  success,  nor  had  any  news  yet 
come  through  from  Plymouth. 

A  couple  of  R.A.F.  officers,  however,  had  arrived 
not  long  after  the  search-parties  set  out,  and  they 
were  still  engaged  in  examining  the  burned-out 
plane.  Seeing  the  Superintendent,  they  made  over 
to  him. 

They  also  were  somewhat  puzzled,  they  said,  by 
the  failure  of  Sir  Charles  to  jump,  especially  as  they 
were  convinced  that  Mrs.  Evans  had  done  so — with- 
out a  parachute. 

Of  the  cause  of  the  crash  they  could  say  nothing 
yet;  an  Air  Ministry  examination  would  have  to  be 
held. 

Regarding  Mrs.  Evans,  they  pointed  out  that, 
were  Pope's  account  of  the  disaster  correct — they 
saw  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  and  the  known  facts  con- 
firmed it — then  they  had  the  strongest  arguments  to 
support  it. 

According  to  Pope,  when  he  first  saw  the  blazing 
machine  it  was  flying  in  a  normal  position  at  a  height 


30  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

of  approximately  two  thousand  feet,  and  did  not 
seem  then  to  be  out  of  control.  It  had,  however, 
immediately  afterwards  commenced  a  spinning  dive, 
and  had  Mrs.  Evans  been  flung  out  during  this  de- 
scent it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  body  would 
have  been  discovered  on  the  ground  covered  by  the 
firemen. 

Pope's  figure  of  two  thousand  feet  or  thereabouts 
was  confirmed  in  their  opinion  by  that  being  the  alti- 
tude they  would  have  expected  a  "Moth,"  climbing 
leisurely  and  flying  in  a  straight  line  from  Lyming- 
ton,  and  not  waiting  to  circle  the  taking-off  ground, 
to  have  reached. 

Bailey  had  described  the  take-off  and  explained 
that  the  wind — what  little  there  had  been — had 
been  blowing  from  a  south-westerly  direction,  so  the 
'planes,  after  taking  off  against  it  in  the  usual  man- 
ner, were,  without  turning  directly,  on  their  course. 

Should  they  have  had  engine  trouble  before  gain- 
ing sufficient  height  to  glide  back  safely  to  their 
landing-ground  they  would  have  been  faced  with  the 
difficulty  of  making  a  forced  landing  on  unknown 
ground  and  in  most  uncertain  moonlight.  However, 
it  was  not  the  first  time  that  Bailey  had  seen  Sir 
Charles  take  this  risk. 

The  distance  the  engine  had  buried  itself  in  the 
earth,  taking  into  consideration  the  weight  of  the 
'plane  and  state  of  the  ground,  also  supported  Pope's 
estimate  of  the  altitude. 

The  theory  they  put  forward  regarding  Sir 
Charles'  remaining  in  the  cockpit  was  that  he  had 
attempted  to  bring  the  blazing  machine  down  on 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  31 

to  the  Head,  and  had  been  overcome  by  the  fumes. 
That  was,  in  their  opinion,  the  only  one  to  fit  the 
facts. 

Yes;  they  had  heard  of  cases  of  'planes  catching 
fire  at  even  greater  altitudes  and  being  brought  to 
earth  safely.  Why,  only  a  year  or  two  ago  there 
was  the  case  of  that  other  famous  private  'plane 
owner,  Pat  Lloyd,  who  successfully  brought  down  his 
blazing  machine  at  a  flying  meeting  up  North.  .  .  . 
Largely  a  matter  of  luck,  though.  .  .  .  One  has  to 
side-slip  a  lot  to  keep  the  flames  from  the  cockpit. 
Still  it  was  possible. 

Yes ;  no  doubt  Evans  had  made  a  forced  landing. 
Rather  a  coincidence  that — but  plenty  of  safe  land- 
ing-places along  the  coast.  They  both  knew  the 
route  well.  News  would  be  along  presently,  no 
doubt.  Hallo!  Reporters,  by  the  look  of  things. 
Extraordinary  how  soon  they  get  on  the  scent. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  again.  Pope  picked  up 
the  receiver. 

"News  of  Evans,  I  bet,"  remarked  the  Superin- 
tendent, f 

But  no ! 

"Wanted  on  the  'phone,  sergeant,"  announced  the 
coastguard,  handing  over  the  instrument. 

"James  speaking,"  answered  the  sergeant. 

The  voice  at  the  other  end  could  be  heard  indis- 
tinctly by  those  in  the  hut. 

Then —  "What?"  the  policeman  cried.  "Good 
God,  no ! — it  can't  be  true !" 

Dropping  the  instrument  from  his  listless  hand, 
it  fell  with  a  clatter  on  to  the  table. 


32  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

He  turned,  facing  the  others.  "My  brother,"  he 
muttered  brokenly,  "Constable  James.  Found  in  a 
ditch  in  Redstock  Lane — murdered !" 

And  as  the  sergeant  spoke  Hunt  noticed  Bailey, 
the  mechanic,  quiver,  as  if  from  a  blow ! 


Ill 

THE  CRIME  NEAR  TOTLAND  CORNER 

THE  little  village  of  Redstock  where  Constable 
James  was  stationed  can  be  reached  from  Bourne- 
mouth from  two  routes.  The  quicker  probably  is 
via  Totland  Corner  on  the  main  Lymington-Bourne- 
mouth  road. 

This  was  the  one  Superintendent  Walker  was  tak- 
ing at  no  small  speed  on  that  glorious  May  morning, 
with  Inspector  Hunt  on  the  front  seat  beside  him, 
and  Sergeant  James  seated  in  the  rear. 

Directly  the  news  of  the  younger  James'  death 
had  been  received  the  Superintendent  had  offered  to 
drive  the  sergeant  over  to  the  village ;  and,  thinking 
it  probable  that  the  local  police  would  decide  to  call 
in  Scotland  Yard,  he  had  invited  Hunt  to  accompany 
them. 

Hunt  had  accepted  the  invitation,  and,  after  stop- 
ping for  a  moment  at  his  sister's  house  and  explain- 
ing that  he  would  not  be  in  to  breakfast,  he  hur- 
riedly rejoined  the  waiting  couple. 

Over  the  bridge  at  Tuckton,  where  the  toll-col- 
lector, knowing  the  car,  made  no  attempt  to  stop 
them,  sharp  right  over  the  tram-lines  at  the  cross- 
roads, on  over  the  hump-backed  narrow  bridges  on 
the  main  London  road  at  Christchurch,  and,  after 
a  fast  run  up  the  straight,  right  again  towards  High- 
cliffe. 


34  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

A  mile  more,  then  a  constable  pulled  them  up. 
"We  are  diverting  the  traffic  down  the  loop  road  to 
your  right,  sir,"  he  explained.  "Some  footprints 
are  visible  near  the  body,  and  the  Chief  Constable 
does  not  want  to  run  the  risk  of  having  them  ob- 
literated." 

Parking  the  car  where  the  constable  indicated, 
they  followed  another  constable  through  a  gate  into 
a  field  of  young  corn  and  along  parallel  to  the  main 
road  until  they  came  to  the  spot  known  as  Totland 
Corner. 

Then,  after  climbing  over  a  fence  into  the  adjoin- 
ing meadow,  they  were  asked  to  wait  there  for  a  few 
minutes  while  their  guide  went  for  Major  Williams, 
the  Chief  Constable. 

After  a  short  interval,  Hunt  saw  the  Chief  Con- 
stable, a  rather  stern,  grey-moustached,  military- 
looking  man  about  fifty  years  of  age,  approaching. 

"Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Superintend- 
ent," he  began,  "but  we've  a  few  interesting  tracks 
that  we  want  to  keep  distinct  for  as  long  as  pos- 
sible." 

"That's  quite  all  right,  sir,"  said  the  Superintend- 
ent. "I've  no  business  here  myself  really,  but  I 
brought  Sergeant  James  over.  However,  I  should 
like  to  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Detective-Inspec- 
tor Hunt — from  the  Yard. 

"You've  probably  heard  of  him,"  continued 
Walker.  "I  expect  you  remember  his  handling  of 
the  Collier  case?" 

"I'm  pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable, shaking  Hunt  warmly  by  the  hand.  "Yes,  I 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  35 

recall  the  case  quite  well,  and  I  must  say  I  admired 
the  capable  way  the  Inspector  handled  it. 

"But,"  he  continued,  "we  haven't  got  a  clever, 
scheming  poisoner  to  deal  with  this  time;  instead — 
a  callous,  brutal  murderer  who  shoots  a  man  down 
in  cold  blood !  We  also  have,  I'm  glad  to  say,  some 
very  good  clues,  and  I  fancy  his  arrest  will  only  be 
the  matter  of  a  few  hours." 

"That's  good!"  remarked  Hunt.  "Let's  hope  so, 
at  all  events." 

"Still,"  continued  the  Chief  Constable,  "now 
you're  on  the  spot  I  don't  intend  to  miss  the  chance 
of  getting  you  to  help  me.  It's  more  than  probable 
that  your  trained  eye  will  spot  something  we  locals, 
unused  to  anything  more  serious  than  petty  larceny, 
will  overlook." 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Hunt.  "You  mustn't  expect 
too  much.  But,  if  you  like,  I  will  try  to  get  permis- 
sion from  the  Yard  to  stay  on,  and  I'll  do  my  best. 
Although,"  he  added,  "by  your  talk  of  an  early  ar- 
rest the  case  seems  as  good  as  over." 

"Yes.  I  hope  I'm  right — but,"  he  reminded  them, 
"there's  many  a  slip — you  know  the  saying,  Inspec- 
tor. Now,  before  I  take  you  to  the  spot  where  the 
body  lies,  shall  I  tell  you  as  much  as  we  know?" 

"Yes,  if  you  would,"  answered  Hunt. 

"Then,  briefly — at  seven  o'clock  this  morning  Ser- 
geant Kirk  at  Christchurch  had  a  'phone  call  from 
Mr.  Abbot  of  the  Home  Farm  here  to  say  that  one 
of  his  cowmen,  a  man  named  Ball,  had  discovered 
Constable  James,  the  village  policeman,  dead  in  a 
ditch  in  Redstock  Lane.  There  was  blood  on  his 


36  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

face,  and  it  was  plain  to  the  cowman  that  he  had 
been  shot. 

"Kirk  immediately  instructed  a  constable  to  let 
me  know,  then  he  came  out  on  his  motorcycle  com- 
bination with  Constables  Pryce  and  Brown,  while  the 
police  surgeon  followed  in  his  car. 

"He — that  is,  Kirk — saw  at  once  that  James  had 
been  murdered,  and,  noticing  car  tracks  near  the 
spot,  closed  the  roads. 

"The  surgeon  soon  arrived,  and,  after  a  brief  ex- 
amination, was  able  to  say  that  the  constable  had 
been  dead  some  hours.  Perhaps  you'll  see  the  cow- 
man yourself,  Inspector?  He's  coming  over  now." 

"Thanks,  sir,  I  will,"  replied  Hunt.  "So  far  the 
story  is  very  clear." 

The  cowman,  a  diminutive  little  man,  looked  scared 
out  of  his  wits.  Hunt,  however,  obtained  his  story 
without  difficulty. 

Mr.  Abbot,  the  cowman  explained,  had  two  farms 
— Home  Farm,  up  the  lane  in  the  village  of  Red- 
stock,  and  Manor  Farm,  near  Chalton,  a  little  ham- 
let on  the  loop  road  along  which  the  traffic  was  being 
diverted. 

He,  Ball,  had  a  cottage  near  Manor  Farm,  and  it 
was  his  first  duty  in  the  morning  to  collect  the  cows 
from  the  meadows  on  his  way  up  to  work  at  the  Home 
Farm. 

This  morning  they  had  been  in  two  meadows,  the 
Valley  and  Angels. 

He  had  set  out  at  his  usual  time — 6.30.  Going 
across  Valley  Meadow,  he  had  collected  the  cows  in 
the  usual  way — thirty-nine  he  believed  there  were — 
and  had  gone  on  in  front  of  them  and  opened  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  37 

gate,  afterwards  crossing  the  road  and  opening  the 
gate  in  Angels. 

After  closing  the  gate  behind  him,  he  had  been  sur- 
prised to  see  the  cows  clustered  round  the  hedge  a 
short  distance  up  the  meadow.  This  is  a  low  hedge, 
and  the  cows  nearest  to  it  were  gazing  with  their 
heads  over  it,  evidently  watching  something  in  the 
lane.  As  he  approached  them,  he  noticed  that  the 
other  cows  which  had  spent  the  night  in  Angels  had 
already  run  from  the  vicinity  of  the  pond  to  the 
gate.  Upon  drawing  close  to  the  herded  cattle,  he 
had  looked  over  the  hedge  and  had  been  staggered 
to  see  the  body  of  the  village  policeman  sprawled  on 
his  back  in  the  ditch. 

He  had  scrambled  over  the  hedge,  and  found,  to 
his  surprise,  that  the  dead  constable  had  blood  on 
his  face  and  uniform,  and  what  looked  like  a  bullet 
wound  in  his  forehead.  He  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  the  cows  away  from  the  spot,  but  eventually 
managed  to,  and  hurried  up  to  the  Home  Farm, 
where  he  informed  Mr.  Abbot  of  his  discovery. 

"That's  all  very  clear,"  said  Hunt,  when  the  cow- 
man had  concluded.  "Just  a  question  or  two  and 
that  will  be  all.  Firstly,  I  take  it  that  we  are  now 
standing  in  Valley  Meadow?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Ball,  "this  is  Valley  Meadow." 

"And  is  that  your  cottage  I  can  see  down  at  the 
other  end  by  the  farm?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  cowman  again.     "That's  it." 

"Be  about  half  a  mile  away,  wouldn't  it?"  said 
Hunt,  half  to  himself.  Then — "Did  you  hear  any 
shot  in  the  night?"  he  asked. 


38  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  but  Ball  added  that  he  had 
been  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  an  aeroplane. 

Dismissing  the  cowman,  Hunt  crossed  the  road 
and  passed  through  the  gate  into  Angels.  Walking 
up  by  the  hedge  for  a  distance  of  about  fifty  yards, 
he  came  to  the  spot  opposite  to  where  the  body  lay. 

The  passing  of  the  cows  had  obliterated  any  foot- 
prints that  might  have  been  there  previously — and 
the  few  showing  now  had  obviously  been  made  re- 
cently, as  they  were  on  top  of  the  cow-tracks. 

Satisfied  that  no  clues  were  to  be  found  there, 
Hunt  climbed  the  hedge,  using  the  same  place  that 
the  others  had  done. 

"One  good  point  about  this  case,"  he  thought,  "is 
that  Sergeant  Kirk  has  been  careful  to  keep  all  the 
recent  footprints  to  the  same  comparatively  narrow 
section  of  the  road,  and  I  shall  not  have  to  spend 
half  the  morning  sorting  out  the  footsteps  of  the 
police  and  others  concerned  from  any  that  may  have 
been  made  by  the  murderer." 

The  body  still  lay  undisturbed,  facing  the  road, 
in  the  spot  where  it  was  found.  For  the  second  time 
that  morning  it  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  Inspector's  eyes. 

The  head  was  in  a  slightly  higher  position  than 
the  body,  and  blood  had  flowed  freely  from  the  wound 
across  the  face — and  down  the  breast  of  the  blue 
tunic  there  was  left  a  crimson  stain. 

After  a  short  glance  at  the  corpse,  Hunt  turned 
his  attention  to  the  surface  of  the  road. 

A  set  of  footprints  running  from  somewhere 
higher  up  the  lane  down  past  where  he  now  stood 
caught  his  eye. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  39 

Following  them,  walking  on  the  grassy  border  of 
the  ditch,  he  found  they  ran  to  the  bottom  of  the 
lane.  (The  spot  known  as  Totland  Corner.) 

Here  they  crossed  and  re-crossed  the  narrow  lane 
a  number  of  times  but  did  not  appear  to  go  beyond 
it  on  to  the  main  Bournemouth-Lymington  road  be- 
fore running  back  near  the  opposite  bank  until  they 
drew  out  suddenly  to  the  ditch-side  again. 

At  this  point  they  showed  the  maker  of  them  had 
stopped  and  turned  round. 

Hunt  glanced  at  the  dead  constable's  boots,  and 
saw  they  were  responsible  for  the  tracks — as  he  had 
guessed.  The  U-shaped  metal  heel  of  the  left  one 
had  worn  noticeably  to  one  side,  and  the  prints  he 
had  found,  on  a  close  examination,  showed  this  pecu- 
liarity. 

He  then  turned  his  attention  to  another  set  of  foot- 
prints intermingled  with  the  others,  made,  he  saw, 
by  a  considerably  smaller  foot  than  the  dead  con- 
stable's. 

They  started  three-quarters  of  the  way  across  the 
lane,  facing  the  ditch,  just  where  the  body  lay,  tak- 
ing, he  could  trace,  a  couple  of  steps  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

There  the  maker  seemed  to  have  stopped  for  a 
moment.  Hunt  could  see  the  slightly  deeper  im- 
press, especially  of  the  toe  of  the  more  forward  print. 
Then  they  turned,  and,  after  two  more  paces,  van- 
ished. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  person  responsible  for  the 
tracks  had  climbed  out  of  the  car,  walked  to  the 
ditch,  stopped,  turned ;  and,  after  retracing  his  steps, 


40  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

re-entered  the  vehicle.  The  tracks  of  a  car  showed 
up  plainly  at  this  point. 

Hunt  next  inspected  these  car-tracks.  At  the  spot 
where  the  footsteps  vanished  he  could  see  by  the  much 
deeper  marks  that  the  car  had  stopped.  This  was 
exactly  what  he  had  expected  to  find. 

A  few  drops  of  heavy  oil  had  fallen  here  between 
the  wheel-tracks,  and  still  showed  up  plainly  on  the 
soft,  damp  surface  of  the  lane. 

He  could  see  quite  plainly,  too,  that  the  car  had 
afterwards  gone  on  up  the  lane  towards  Redstock, 
the  cut-up  surface  of  the  roadway  suggesting  the 
departure  had  been  hurried. 

Following  the  tire-tracks  down  the  lane,  the  In- 
spector noticed  that  in  places  they  overlapped  the 
prints  of  the  dead  constable.  On  reaching  Totland 
Corner,  he  found  that  the  car  had  come  from  the 
direction  of  Lymington,  before  turning  into  Red- 
stock  Lane. 

A  good  look  round  failed  to  reveal  any  more  prints 
— except  those  made  by  the  police  and  cowman — 
anywhere  in  the  lane. 

On  the  main  road,  however,  there  were  four  other 
distinct  sets  of  car-tracks.  The  first  was  obviously 
the  track  of  a  heavy  lorry  and  was  definitely  not 
made  as  recently  as  the  other  three.  (Later  Hunt 
ascertained  that  it  was  the  delivery  lorry  of  a  brick 
and  tile  manufacturer  returning  late  to  Highcliffe.) 

The  second  tracks  were  those  of  a  motor-cycle 
combination,  subsequently  traced  to  a  builder's  son 
at  Highcliffe  who  had  been  to  a  theatre  in  Bourne- 
mouth, returning  about  midnight. 

The  fourth  tracks,  which  over-ran  all  the  others, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  41 

were  those  made  by  the  butler  and  mechanic  on  their 
run  to  Hengistbury  Head.  Hunt  had  noticed  that 
the  tires  of  the  Rover  they  arrived  in  were  all  new 
Dunlops. 

Only  the  third  set  remained  untraced. 

These  overlapped  the  lorry  and  combination 
tracks,  but  were  themselves  crosed  by  the  Rover's. 

However,  as  they  had  themselves  been  lapped  by 
the  car  he  took  to  be  the  murderer's — and  did  not 
appear  to  have  stopped — Hunt  dismissed  them  as  of 
no  importance. 

Then,  returning  to  where  the  Chief  Constable 
stood  directing  a  policeman,  who  was  busily  engaged 
in  taking  photographs  of  the  body  and  the  various 
prints  on  the  road,  he  looked  carefully  at  the  plaster 
casts  that  Major  Williams  had  taken. 

They  were  almost  perfect,  and  he  saw  at  once  that 
they  could  not  be  bettered. 

"So  you've  finished,  Inspector,"  observed  the  Chief 
Constable.  "May  I  ask  what  you  make  of  the  case?" 

"The  same  as  you  do,  sir,  I  think,"  replied  Hunt. 
"It  seems  very  straightforward.  Find  the  car — a 
large  one — with  the  V-shaped  flint  cut  in  the  near 
front  tire  and  you'll  soon  have  your  man — unless,  of 
course,  it's  been  stolen." 

"Exactly,  Inspector;  that's  what  we've  got  to  do 
now ;  and,  as  I  told  you,  I  believe  it  won't  take  long. 
The  following  has  been  sent  out  to  all  police  stations : 


« 


'Wanted  for  MURDER.  Driver  of  a  large  car, 
probably  over  twenty  horse  power.  Fitted  four 
almost  new  Firestone  extra  heavy  sports  tires,  size 
31  x  5.25.  Large  V-shaped  cut  in  the  near  front 


42  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

one.  This  car  was  in  the  vicinity  of  Redstock 
and  Highcliffe  between  midnight  and  4<  A.M.,  May 
23rd.  Driver  is  probably  a  small  man.  Was 
wearing  shoes  size  6.  Fitted  new  "Uskide"  soles.' 

"Every  constable  in  the  country  will  be  looking 
for  that  car,  and  promotion,  by  now,"  he  added. 

Just  then  a  plain-clothes  man  came  up  to  them. 
"I've  discovered  a  set  of  prints  in  the  meadow — run- 
ning this  way,"  he  announced. 

"Let's  go  and  have  a  look  at  them,"  said  the  Chief 
Constable. 

The  detective  led  the  way.  About  midway  up  the 
meadow,  almost  in  the  centre  of  it,  was  a  patch  of 
boggy  ground. 

Here  the  tracks  of  a  man's  boots  were  plainly 
visible.  They  appeared  to  lead  from  the  corner  op- 
posite to  that  near  which  the  body  lay. 

Hunt  followed  them  for  about  fifty  yards,  losing 
them  in  a  maze  of  cattle-tracks.  Continuing  in  the 
direction  they  appeared  to  lead  from,  he  came  to  a 
gate  in  the  corner  of  the  meadow. 

But  no  further  trace  of  them  did  he  find,  although 
he  diligently  searched  both  sides  of  the  hedge  from 
the  farm  right  round  to  the  pond. 

Returning  to  the  marshy  patch,  he  picked  up  the 
trail  again,  only  to  lose  it  later  some  fifty  yards  from 
the  lane,  and  a  good  hundred  yards  higher  up  than 
the  spot  where  the  body  lay. 

Here  again  Hunt  made  a  thorough  search,  but  the 
mass  of  cattle-tracks  running  parallel  to  the  lane 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  find  the  prints  again 
in  the  meadow.  He  knew  from  his  examination  of 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  43 

an  hour  previously  that  they  were  not  in  the  lane. 

A  further  search  round  the  remaining  sides  of  the 
meadow  revealed  nothing.  Both  ends  of  the  tracks 
vanished  entirely. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  marshy  portion  of  the 
meadow,  Major  Williams  had  set  to  work  taking 
casts  of  these  new  prints,  while  Hunt  endeavoured 
to  find  out  from  whence  they  came  and  to  where 
they  led. 

After  satisfying  himself  that  all  traces  of  them 
were  indeed  lost  after  the  passing  of  the  cows,  Hunt 
returned,  to  find  the  Chief  Constable  had  completed 
his  task. 

"I  don't  think  these  have  any  bearing  on  the  case," 
he  said,  "or  we  should  have  had  traces  of  them  in 
the  lane,  but  it's  as  well  to  make  sure  of  everything 
in  a  case  like  this.  Now,"  he  added  temptingly,  "Mr. 
Abbot  has  sent  to  say  that  if  we  could  spare  the  tune 
to  go  over  to  the  farm,  his  wife  would  be  glad  to 
serve  us  a  meal.  What  about  it?" 

Hunt  was  by  this  time  ravenously  hungry,  and 
welcomed  the  suggestion. 

Mrs.  Abbot  apologised  profusely  for  what  she 
called  such  a  "slap-up  meal,"  but  to  the  two  famished 
officials  the  eggs  and  bacon  were  as  welcome  as  manna 
from  Heaven. 

They  found  the  Superintendent  had  been  'phon- 
ing up  the  coastguard  station,  and  Hunt  learned  to 
his  surprise  that  no  news  had  yet  been  received  of 
Evans. 

The  doctor  was  holding  a  post-mortem  examina- 
tion on  the  body  of  Sir  Charles  that  morning,  and 
the  inquest  was  fixed  for  4.30  that  afternoon. 


44  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

While  Hunt  and  Major  Williams  did  justice  to 
the  meal,  Walker  sat  listening  to  the  Chief  Con- 
stable's story  of  his  discoveries. 

He  also  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  car-tracks  and 
footsteps  in  the  lane  were  made  by  the  murderer. 
The  footsteps  in  the  meadow,  he  thought,  had  been 
made  by  a  gipsy  taking  a  short  cut  from  the  Forest 
(where  any  number  were  encamped)  across  the  fields 
to  the  main  road. 

But,  although  Hunt  realized  that  this  was  more 
than  likely  the  correct  explanation,  he  hated  leav- 
ing loose  ends  in  a  case,  and  determined  that  he  would 
look  into  the  matter  more  closely  before  being  as 
certain  again,  as  he  had  been  before  the  finding  of 
the  prints,  that  the  Chief  Constable's  deductions 
were  correct. 


IV 
THE  SENSATION  AT  THE  INQUEST 

THE  inquest  on  the  dead  policeman  had  been  fixed 
for  three  o'clock  that  afternoon.  Hunt  decided,  al- 
though he  would  be  unlikely  to  hear  anything  new 
about  the  case,  to  attend  on  the  off-chance  of  some- 
thing fresh  coming  to  light. 

However,  little  did.  The  proceedings  were  almost 
immediately  adjourned  to  give  the  police  time  to 
make  their  inquiries.  Only  Sergeant  James'  evidence 
of  identification,  and  then  that  of  the  doctor,  being 
taken. 

Dr.  Willing,  the  police  surgeon,  said  that  he  had 
found  the  bullet  lodged  in  the  back  of  the  brain, 
and,  after  exhibiting  it  to  the  jury,  he  passed  it  over 
to  the  Chief  Constable. 

Hunt,  when  he  saw  it,  was  of  the  opinion  that  it 
was  a  .22,  but  it  was  badly  flattened  and  he  was  not 
prepared  to  swear  to  it.  He  pocketed  it,  however, 
for  future  reference. 

So,  by  a  quarter  to  four,  he  found  himself  once 
more  in  the  road.  Just  as  he  had  decided  he  could 
do  no  more  there  that  day,  and  was  wondering  how 
he  could  best  get  back  to  Southbourne,  the  Superin- 
tendent appeared,  coming,  it  seemed,  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Bournemouth,  and  drew  up  alongside  him. 

"Doing  anything  important?"  he  asked,  lowering 
the  window  of  the  saloon. 

45 


46  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"No,"  replied  Hunt.  "I'm  just  going  back  to 
Southbourne  to  get  a  shave  and  a  decent  meal." 

"I'll  drive  you,  then,"  said  Walker,  "and,  if  you're 
not  too  tired,  I  should  like  you  to  take  a  spot  of  tea 
with  me  at  a  little  cafe  I  know  at  Christchurch,  and 
then  come  along  to  the  inquest  on  poor  Sir  Charles. 
I  think  it  will  interest  you — in  fact  I  know  it  will! 
By  the  way,  no  news  of  young  Evans  yet — at  least, 
not  up  until  I  left  the  station  half  an  hour  ago. 
Funny  that — it  seems  to  me. 

"Of  course,  he  may  have  landed  on  some  isolated 
corner  of  Dartmoor,  although  I  understand  that 
would  not  be  directly  on  his  route." 

"Oh,  yes !"  said  Hunt.  "I'd  forgotten  the  inquest 
was  this  afternoon.  I'd  like  to  come." 

He  climbed  into  the  car,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
they  were  seated  in  the  cafe  on  the  outskirts  of 
Christchurch.  The  predominant  topic  of  conversa- 
tion here  appeared  to  be  the  fate  of  Sir  Charles  Staf- 
ford. The  occupants  of  a  nearby  table,  Hunt  noted, 
were  engaged  in  fierce  argument  as  to  who  had 
ranked  as  our  No.  1  pilot  prior  to  the  baronet's  crash 
on  the  Head.  The  man  on  Hunt's  right  voted  Staf- 
ford, his  younger  companion  was  loud  in  his  praise 
for  Pat  Lloyd,  while  the  two  lady  members  of  the 
party  were  agreed  that  Jean  LeLac,  the  handsome 
young  Anglo-French  airman,  deserved  the  palm. 
However,  as  time  was  pressing,  Hunt  was  not  al- 
lowed to  remain  to  hear  the  finish  of  the  argument. 

The  inquest  was  being  held  at  the  "Bull."  As 
Walker  pulled  the  car  up  outside  the  premises,  Hunt 
noticed  quite  a  crowd  of  would-be  hearers,  many  of 
them  women,  who  had,  he  guessed,  hurried  down  from 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  47 

Town  as  soon  as  they  received  the  news  of  the  dis- 
aster. 

It  was  apparent  that,  owing  to  lack  of  room,  they 
had,  despite  their  journey,  been  unable  to  gain  ad- 
mittance to  the  improvised  court.  It  had  always 
seemed  a  strange  thing  to  Hunt  that  Sir  Charles, 
who  had  the  whole  feminine  world  at  his  feet,  had 
never  married,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  many  beauti- 
ful women,  some  obviously  on  the  verge  of  tears — 
one  or  two  playthings  of  the  dead  man,  he  knew — 
he  was  more  surprised  than  ever. 

Inside,  the  little  room  was  crowded,  and  Hunt 
could  see  several  leading  airmen  among  those  pres- 
ent. The  detachable  leaves  of  the  billiard-table  had 
been  replaced,  and  seated  at  the  head  of  it  was  Dr. 
Wild,  the  Coroner,  while  down  each  side  sat  the  mem- 
bers of  the  jury. 

The  Coroner  opened  the  proceedings  with  a  short 
speech  deploring  the  circumstances  that  had  gath- 
ered them  together  that  afternoon. 

He  then  paid  a  brief  tribute  to  the  flying  achieve- 
ments of  the  late  Sir  Charles,  mentioning  especially 
his  lone  Atlantic  flights  and  his  record-breaking 
flight  to  Australia  and  back.  "We  all  feel,"  he  con- 
cluded, "that  the  world  will  be  left  the  poorer  by  the 
passing  of  so  gallant  a  gentleman !" 

Then,  after  he  had  briefly  thanked  several  aero- 
nautical experts  who  were  present,  including  the 
aforementioned  Pat  Lloyd,  for  their  offer  of  advice 
on  any  technical  points  that  might  arise,  the  jury 
were  sworn  in  and  taken  to  view  the  remains.  And  as 
they  filed  back  after  completing  the  sordid  task  the 
law  demands  and  which  must  be  fulfilled,  Hunt  could 


48  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

see  that  they  had  been  shaken  to  a  man  by  the  awful 
sight  they  had  had  to  see. 

The  first  witness  was  William  Pope,  the  coast- 
guard. He  repeated  his  story  of  the  disaster.  The 
Coroner  had  no  questions  to  ask  him,  and  he  was 
allowed  to  stand  down. 

The  butler,  James  Henry  Sturman,  was  then 
called. 

He  was  obviously  affected,  and  gave  his  evidence 
at  first  in  a  halting  manner.  He  said  he  was  in  the 
service  of  the  late  Sir  Charles  Stafford  at  Forest 
Court,  near  Lymington.  He  had  held  that  position 
for  the  last  twelve  months. 

He  was  then  shown  a  gold  hunter  watch,  a  bunch 
of  keys,  some  buttons,  and  a  wallet.  He  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  identifying  the  articles  as  the  property  of 
Sir  Charles  Stafford. 

Asked  to  explain  more  fully  how  he  could  be  sure 
that  the  watch  was  not  one  similar  to  Sir  Charles',  he 
replied  that  this  watch  had  been  presented  to  Sir 
Charles  on  the  completion  of  his  Atlantic  flights,  and 
bore  an  inscription  on  the  back  of  four  and  a  half 
lines.  He  could  still  see  traces  of  these  lines.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it — this  was  Sir  Charles'  watch ! 

The  keys,  he  said,  he  had  frequently  used  himself. 
He  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  use  of  each.  The 
wallet  he  identified  by  its  metal  clasp. 

As  for  the  buttons — they  were  off  a  new  suit  of 
plus-fours  Sir  Charles  had  had  made  recently.  He 
could,  even  now,  swear  to  the  burned  material  hang- 
ing from  them. 

Satisfied,  the  Coroner  turned  to  face  his  man  more 
squarely.  "Now.  Will  you  please  tell  us  exactly 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  49 

what  happened  on  the  evening  of  the  22nd  and  early 
morning  of  the  23rd  of  May?" 

Sturman  seemed  to  consider  a  moment  before  com- 
mencing. "Last  evening,"  he  began,  "Sir  Charles 
gave  a  little  dinner-party  to  a  few  friends.  It  was 
a  farewell  party — he  was  due  to  sail  to-day  from 
Plymouth  on  a  prolonged  visit  to  America. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  were  going  with  him.  They 
had  arrived  by  air  in  the  early  afternoon. 

"The  other  guests,  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lovel,  Mr. 
Day,  and  the  two  Miss  Fensomes,  also  arrived  early. 

"Dinner  was  served  at  eight.  At  ten  o'clock  all 
the  guests  left  except  Mr.  Day — and,  of  course,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Evans." 

He,  Sturman,  was  then  told  he  could  retire  until 
2.30  a.m. — which  he  did.  He  believed  Sir  Charles 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  then  went  out  into  the 
grounds.  He  could  not  say  what  happened  after 
that. 

The  next  time  he  saw  Sir  Charles  was  2.45  a.m. 
Here  the  Coroner  interrupted.  "You  say  Sir  Charles 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  went  into  the  grounds  about 
ten.  Did  not  this  Mr.  Day  accompany  them?" 

Sturman  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then,  flushing,  he 
answered,  "No." 

The  Coroner  had  noticed  his  embarrassment. 
"Will  you  please  tell  us  what  happened  to  Mr. 
Day?" 

Again  Sturman  hesitated.  Then — "Mr.  Day  was 
feeling  unwell ;  he  went  to  lie  down,"  he  answered. 

Hunt  realised  instantly  what  the  Coroner  was 
driving  at;  guessed  correctly,  too,  what  the  next 
question  would  be. 


50  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Were  any  of  the  party  under  the  influence  of 
drink?  I  know  this  is  a  painful  question,  but  it  must 
be  answered!" 

The  butler  was  now  decidedly  uncomfortable. 
"Yes.  I'm  afraid  so,"  he  answered  at  length. 

"Will  you  please  name  those  who  were?" 

For  a  moment  Hunt  thought  Sturman  would  re- 
fuse to  answer.  Eventually,  choking  his  indignation, 
he  did  reply.  "Yes.  Only  Mr.  Day." 

"You  are  sure  that  neither  your  late  master  nor 
Mr.  Evans  were  also?" 

"Quite  sure,"  replied  the  butler.  "Mr.  Day  was 
the  only  culprit." 

"You  realise  that  this  is  a  most  important  ques- 
tion and  you  are  on  oath  ?"  insisted  the  Coroner. 

"I  have  answered  it — against  my  wish,"  said  the 
butler  hotly. 

The  Coroner  overlooked  this  outburst  and  con- 
tinued. "And  you  saw  Sir  Charles  again  at  2.45?" 

"Yes.  Sir  Charles  was  in  flying  kit,"  went  on  the 
butler.  "He  was  in  the  room  he  used  as  his  office. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  and  Mr.  Day  were  witfr  him. 
Mr.  Day  was  still  intoxicated,"  he  added  maliciously 
for  the  Coroner's  benefit.  "All  four  of  them  had  a 
small  glass  of  whisky." 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Evans  as  well?"  asked  the  Coro- 
ner, somewhat  surprised. 

"Yes.  Mrs.  Evans  as  well,"  replied  Sturman,  now 
really  annoyed. 

"And  then—" 

"I  went  out  to  the  hangars  to  see  that  everything 
was  ready.  Sir  Charles,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans,  and 
Mr.  Day  soon  followed. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  51 

"Mr.  Evans  climbed  into  his  little  monoplane, 
started  the  engine — he  had  a  self-starter — and  taxied 
slowly  out  across  the  park. 

"I  helped  Mrs.  Evans  into  the  front  seat  of  the 
'Moth,'  And  handed  her  up  the  little  travelling-bag 
she  was  carrying. 

"Sir  Charles  swung  the  propeller.  The  engine 
started  first  swing.  Then  he  climbed  in  behind  Mrs. 
Evans,  and,  after  I  had  handed  him  up  his  portman- 
teau, he  opened  up  and  followed  Mr.  Evans  out. 

"I  then  closed  the  hangar  doors  and  went  into  the 
house  again.  A  few  minutes  later,  first  one  and  then 
the  other  'plane  roared  over  the  housetop. 

"Mr.  Day  had  gone  in  before  me.  I  found  him 
in  the  office.  He  said  he  had  decided  to  go  back  to 
Town  that  night  instead  of  staying  on  as  he  had  at 
first  intended.  After  another  drink,  he  had,  al- 
though I  tried  to  dissuade  him,  insisted  on  leav- 
ing. .  .  .  Although  he  was  not,  in  my  opinion,  in  a 
fit  state  to  drive  a  car,  he  managed,  after  two  or 
three  attempts,  to  start  his  engine  and  drive  away." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Coroner,  seeing  Sturman 
had  concluded.  "That's  all  very  clear.  Now,  just 
one  or  two  questions,  please,  then  you  may  stand 
down.  Where  is  the  hangar  you  spoke  of  situated  ?" 

The  hangar,  Sturman  explained,  was  a  building 
Sir  Charles  had  erected  and  was  attached  to  one  side 
of  the  house.  It  could  be  entered  from  the  house  by 
a  door  at  the  end  of  a  passage.  There  was  no  need 
to  go  outside  to  get  to  it.  The  garage  was  built 
on  the  same  plan,  and  was  really  part  of  the  hangar. 

"I  imagined  so,"  observed  the  Coroner.  "Now, 
lastly — what  had  Sir  Charles  in  his  portmanteau?" 


52  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Oh,  only  his  designs  and  private  papers,  I  be- 
lieve," said  the  butler.  "I  can't  say  definitely,  as  I 
didn't  see  him  pack  it." 

The  next  witness  was  Horace  William  Golding, 
a  dental  surgeon  of  Lymington. 

He  said  Sir  Charles  was  one  of  his  patients.  He 
was  shown  a  set  of  badly  distorted  false  teeth.  He 
was  able  to  say  immediately  that,  despite  their  con- 
dition, he  could  recognise  them  as  a  set  he  made  re- 
cently for  the  late  Sir  Charles  Stafford.  He  could 
positively  identify  them  by  a  gold  tooth  on  the  right 
side  of  the  upper  plate.  He  thought  it  unusual  to 
put  a  gold  tooth  in  a  complete  set,  but  Sir  Charles 
had  insisted  and  he  had  done  so. 

This  concluded  Mr.  Golding's  evidence,  and  Sir 
Charles'  valet,  Horace  Stone,  was  called. 

He  identified  the  watch,  keys,  wallet,  and  buttons 
as  Sir  Charles'  property.  He  explained  that  Sir 
Charles'  luggage  had  already  gone  forward,  and  that 
to  the  best  of  his  knowledge  the  portmanteau  con- 
tained only  papers. 

Next,  Bailey,  the  chauffeur-mechanic,  was  called. 
He  seemed  to  Hunt  to  be  in  a  state  of  abject  terror. 

The  Coroner  noticed  his  nervousness,  and  began 
his  examination  in  a  kindly  tone.  In  reply  to  his 
questions,  the  mechanic  said  he  had  been  in  Sir 
Charles'  service  for  the  past  two  years.  He  had 
gained  some  knowledge  of  aircraft  whilst  serving 
with  the  R.A.F.  towards  the  latter  part  of  the  war. 

Sir  Charles  had  lately  taken  him  in  hand  and 
he  was  now  a  qualified  pilot.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  he  was  to  go  to  Plymouth  and  fly  the  machine 
back  that  day. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  53 

He  had  previously  been  asked  to  make  a  rough 
sketch  of  the  house  and  grounds,  and  this  he  now 
produced  and  handed  to  the  Coroner. 

At  a  quarter  to  three  that  morning  he  had  gone 
from  his  house  to  the  searchlight  that  Sir  Charles 
used  to  aid  him  to  take  off  in  the  dark.  He  had 
immediately  switched  this  on. 

At  about  five  minutes  to  three  the  'planes  taxied 
out.  They  stopped  by  him  and  ran  up  their  en- 
gines for  a  time.  He  went  over  to  Sir  Charles  to  ask 
if  the  searchlight  was  throwing  the  beam  in  the  right 
direction.  Mrs.  Evans  was  in  the  'plane.  Mr.  Evans 
had  got  out  of  his  'plane  and  gone  over  to  the 
"Moth."  He  saw  Mrs.  Evans  speak  to  him. 

Sir  Charles  then  taxied  into  the  far  corner  of  the 
ground.  Mr.  Evans'  engine  began  "spitting  back." 
After  a  couple  of  minutes,  however,  it  got  going 
properly  again — and  he  too  taxied  to  the  far  cor- 
ner. 

Then  for  some  inexplicable  reason  his  light  went 
out  of  order.  He  managed  to  get  it  going  again 
after  about  thirty  seconds. 

A  minute  or  so  later  Mr.  Evans  took  off.  Just  as 
he  was  getting  up  speed,  the  light  flickered  again — 
only  for  a  few  seconds,  though. 

Mr.  Evans  was  travelling  too  fast  to  stop,  and 
had  managed  to  take  off  in  the  dark — a  very  risky 
procedure.  .  .  .  But  luck  favoured  him,  and  he  got 
clear. 

A  moment  later  Sir  Charles  taxied  by  at  speed — 
and,  by  some  amazing  coincidence,  the  light  flick- 
ered yet  a  third  time.  Sir  Charles,  however,  was  not 


54  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

going  quite  so  fast  as  Mr.  Evans  had  been,  and  he 
managed  to  pull  up  safely. 

He  had  then  turned  round  half  way  down  the  park. 
Bailey  could  see  him  plainly  now — the  light  was  on 
once  more. 

He  then  taxied  back  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
stopped  before,  and  got  out  of  his  'plane.  Qoming 
over  to  Bailey,  he  had  cursed  him  for  not  seeing  that 
the  light  was  kept  in  good  working  order. 

Then,  going  back  to  the  'plane,  he  had  spoken  to 
Mrs.  Evans,  climbed  in,  and  taxied  once  again  to  the 
far  corner.  This  time  he  had  taken  off  without  in- 
cident. Mrs.  Evans  was  definitely  still  in  the  'plane, 
for  as  the  machine  raced  by  he  had  seen  her  hair 
blowing  in  the  wind.  He  had  noticed,  he  added,  that 
she  never  wore  a  hat  when  flying. 

The  time  then  was  exactly  three  o'clock ;  he  heard 
a  clock  strike  the  hour — in  Lymington,  he  believed. 

He  had  waited  until  the  'planes  got  well  away  be- 
fore turning  off  the  light  (in  case  they  had  engine 
trouble  and  needed  its  beam  to  land  by)  and  going 
back  to  bed. 

He  had  been  disturbed  later  by  the  butler  ringing 
him  up — he  had  a  'phone  extension  to  his  house. 
That  was  all  he  could  tell — except,  of  course,  his  see- 
ing the  wreckage  of  the  "Moth"  on  the  Head. 

"That  evidence  was  remarkably  clear,"  said  the 
Coroner.  "If  all  witnesses  kept  so  closely  to  the 
point,  I  should  get  through  these  proceedings  in  half 
the  time  I  now  take.  One  question  before  you  go — 
can  you  tell  me  what  kind  of  weather  you  had  at 
Lymington  last  evening?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  mechanic.     "It  held  fine  up 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  55 

until  just  after  eleven,  and  then  we  had  a  couple  of 
hours'  steady  downpour." 

"That  will  be  all  for  the  moment,  I  think,"  said 
the  Coroner,  motioning  him  to  stand  down. 

Miss  Elsie  Fensome  was  next  called.  She  corrob- 
orated the  evidence.  She  was  certain  Sir  Charles  was 
not  drunk.  After  dinner,  she  continued,  they  played 
a  short  game  of  roulette — only  for  an  hour  or  so; 
then  they  all  went  home,  except  Mr.  Day,  who,  she 
regretted,  had  made  a  pig  of  himself. 

Yes,  she  had  seen  his  car — a  magnificent  Rolls- 
Royce.  Almost  new. 

This  was  all  Miss  Fensome  could  tell. 

Hunt  began  to  wonder  if  the  Superintendent  had 
meant  by  his  remark,  "I  think  it  will  interest  you — 
in  fact,  I  know  it  will,"  that  it  would  come  out  in 
evidence  that  a  drunken  man  in  a  Rolls-Royce  car 
had  been  driving  in  the  vicinity  of  Redstock  Lane  at 
the  approximate  hour  of  the  murder.  (He  guessed 
Mr.  Day  would  take  the  Lymington-Bournemouth 
road  past  Totland  Corner  until  he  reached  the  main 
London-Bournemouth  road.) 

The  matter  certainly  wanted  looking  into,  but  he 
did  not  think  a  man  would  go  to  the  trouble  of  fitting 
non-standard  tires  to  a  new  car,  no  matter  how  good 
the  tires  might  be.  Rolls-Royce,  he  knew,  had  stand- 
ardised Dunlop. 

He  could  see  the  proceedings  were  drawing  to  a 
close.  The  Coroner  was  whispering  to  the  Super- 
intendent, who  nodded  in  reply. 

"Dr.  Lawrence  Grier." 

The  doctor  went  up  to  the  table. 


56  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"You  are  police  surgeon  at  Bournemouth?"  asked 
the  Coroner. 

"I  am,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"At  4.15  this  morning  you  examined  the  body  of 
Sir  Charles  Stafford  on  Hengistbury  Head?" 

"That  is  correct,  sir." 

"In  consequence  of  what  you  saw  you  held  a  post- 
mortem examination  later?" 

"I  did,  sir — assisted  by  Dr.  Robinson." 

"And  did  you  ascertain  the  cause  of  death?" 

"We  did,  sir." 

"And  you  found—?" 

"In  simple  language — a  bullet  wound  in  the 
brain!" 


V 

THEORIES 

HAD  a  bomb  exploded  in  the  little  room  it  could 
hardly  have  produced  a  bigger  sensation  than  did 
these  few  words  of  the  doctor's. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Hunt  that  he  could 
have  heard  a  pin  drop.  Then  a  hysterical  sob  broke 
the  silence;  a  woman  at  the  back  fainted,  and  the 
onlookers  began  excitedly  talking  to  one  another. 

The  Coroner,  Superintendent,  and  doctor,  who 
had  known,  of  course,  what  was  coming,  alone  re- 
mained unmoved.  Even  Hunt,  hardened  by  years  of 
police  work  to  shocks  and  surprises,  could  hardly 
believe  his  ears.  Now  it  was  plain  why  Walker  had 
wished  him  to  be  present.  It  looked  like  another 
murder. 

The  Coroner  rapped  for  silence.  It  was  obvious 
that  he  had  more  questions  to  ask  the  doctor.  Every- 
one became  all  attention  again.  Every  eye  was  fas- 
tened on  the  medical  man — but  he  remained  oblivious 
to  their  stares ;  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved. 

"And  could,"  went  on  the  Coroner,  "the  wound 
have  been  self-inflicted?" 

"It  could — but  it  seems  highly  improbable  that  it 
was.  The  bullet  entered  the  base  of  the  skull  behind 
the  ears,  traversed  the  brain,  and  was  removed  from 
behind  the  forehead." 

Here  the  doctor  produced  the  bullet ;  it  was  handed 

57 


58  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

to  the  jury,  who  examined  it  carefully,  though  what 
they  expected  to  learn  from  it  was  a  puzzle  to  Hunt. 
It  was  then  passed  up  to  the  Superintendent,  who  in 
turn  handed  it  to  the  C.I.D.  man. 

This  bullet,  also,  was  badly  flattened,  but  Hunt, 
after  comparing  it  with  the  other  one,  which  he  still 
had  on  him,  was  convinced  that  this  too  was  a  .22. 

This  was  a  coincidence  that  required  the  most  care- 
ful looking  into.  He  decided  to  send  them  both  up 
to  the  experts  at  the  Yard,  who  would,  he  knew,  not 
only  tell  him  the  calibre  quite  definitely,  but  also 
whether  or  no  they  were  both  discharged  from  the 
same  barrel. 

The  doctor  was  continuing  his  evidence.  "For  the 
wound  to  have  been  self -inflicted,"  he  said,  "it  would 
have  been  necessary  for  the  deceased  to  have  held  the 
weapon  in  the  left  hand  behind  the  back  of  the  head." 

This  concluded  the  medical  evidence,  Dr.  Robin- 
son not  being  called. 

After  a  short  conversation  with  the  Superintend- 
ent, the  Coroner  recalled  the  mechanic,  Bailey. 
"Was  Sir  Charles  left-handed?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  was  the  reply.    "Right-handed  always." 

At  this  stage  the  Coroner  adjourned  the  inquest 
indefinitely  to  give  the  police  time  to  make  their  in- 
quiries. 

Hunt  and  the  Superintendent  followed  the  Chief 
Constable,  who  had  arrived  during  the  taking  of 
Bailey's  evidence,  into  a  private  sitting-room,  where 
he  motioned  them  to  seat  themselves. 

"Now,"  he  began,  "we've  got  a  mystery  this  time 
if  you  like — a  case  without  parallel,  to  the  best  of 
my  knowledge — and,  if  the  good  name  of  the  British 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  59 

police  force  is  to  be  upheld,  we've  got  to  solve  it." 

"Hear,  hear !"  put  in  Walker.  "And,  if  we  don't 
want  the  Press  to  ridicule  us,  we've  got  to  act 
quickly." 

"We  have  indeed,"  agreed  Hunt.  "And,  so  far  as 
I'm  concerned,  even  if  it  means  working  all  night 
I'm  game." 

"And  I  too,"  announced  Walker,  "although  I've 
already  had  some  sixteen  hours  on  the  go — without 
a  break." 

"Well — what's  the  next  move  to  be  ?"  asked  Hunt. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  while.  The  Chief  Con- 
stable passed  round  his  cigarettes.  "Yes,"  he  said 
presently,  "it's  a  puzzle  to  know  just  where  to  begin. 
I  think  perhaps  we'd  better  run  over  the  evidence 
again.  There  must  be  a  clue  somewhere  that  we 
have  missed. 

"To  start  with,  I  take  it  that  you  agree  that  Sir 
Charles  met  his  death  between  3  and  3.17  this  morn- 
ing." [3.17  was  the  exact  time  of  the  crash  on  the 
headland,  according  to  Pope,  who  supplied  the  in- 
formation to  the  Superintendent  soon  after  he  ar- 
rived on  the  scene.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
Superintendent  afterwards  checked  Pope's  clock  by 
his  watch  and  found  it  correct.] 

The  others  nodded. 

"In  that  case,  he  could  have  been  murdered  only 
at  Lymington,  in  the  air,  or  after  the  crash  on  the 
Head." 

Again  the  others  had  to  agree. 

"We  know  from  what  the  doctor  told  Superin- 
tendent Walker  that  he  could  not  possibly  have  sur- 
vived the  crash.  We  know  from  Bailey's  evidence  that 


60  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

he  was  not  murdered  at  Lymington.  That  leaves  us 
only  the  possibility  that  he  was  murdered  in  the  air. 
Do  you  agree  to  that  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Superintendent.  "Partly. 
But,  don't  forget,  we  have  only  the  word  of  one  man 
that  he  was  not  murdered  at  Lymington." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Chief  Constable.  "I  had  over- 
looked that  point.  But  for  the  moment  I  accept 
Bailey's  evidence." 

"Again,"  put  in  Walker,  "though  you  know  he  was 
dead  the  moment  he  hit  the  ground  on  the  Head,  you 
don't  know  that  someone,  either  urged  by  some  in- 
sane impulse  or  realising  that  it  was  impossible  to 
save  him  from  the  fury  of  the  flames,  didn't  put  a 
bullet  through  his  brain." 

"We  do,"  objected  the  Chief  Constable.  "We 
know  from  Pope's  evidence  that  owing  to  the  heat  no 
one  could  get  near  to  the  wreckage." 

"But,"  retorted  Walker,  "again  you  only  have  the 
evidence  of  one  man." 

"No,"  put  in  Hunt.  "I  accept  Pope's  evidence  as 
correct.  Besides,  the  odds  against  anyone  being  on 
the  head,  just  by  the  spot — and  in  possession  of  a  re- 
volver— at  3.17  a.m.  are  enormous." 

"I  think  so  too,"  went  on  the  Chief  Constable. 
"Then  that  leaves  us  with  the  possibility  that  he  was 
murdered  in  the  air. 

"Now,  to  get  murder  in  the  air  suggests  another 
aeroplane.  Remember  the  unusual  hour — 3.17  a.m. 
Not  much  chance  of  another  aeroplane  passing  in  the 
ordinary  way.  But  we  know  there  was  one,  piloted 
by  his  friend  Dennis  Evans.  .  .  .  And,  when  that 
friend  disappears,  you  must  admit  that  the  case 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  61 

against  him  begins  to  look  suspicious,  to  say  the  least 
of  it." 

"Yes,"  answered  Walker,  "but  when  you  add  the 
fact  that  the  woman  he  loves  was  also  in  the  'plane, 
suspicion  is  instantly  removed." 

"But  do  we  know  he  loved  her?"  asked  Hunt.  "A 
good  many  people  keep  up  the  deception  in  public, 
remember." 

"That  may  be  so,"  replied  Walker.  "Probably  is. 
But  I  know,  I  am  positive,  that  young  Evans  thought 
the  world  of  his  wife.  I  don't  know  that  she  re- 
turned his  love,  mind  you — I  think  so,  though." 

"I  haven't  finished  yet,"  continued  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. "Another  way  to  commit  murder  in  the  air 
would  be  to  stow  away  on  the  aeroplane,  or  go  openly 
as  passenger,  commit  the  murder,  and  escape  by 
parachute." 

"Yes,"  said  Hunt  thoughtfully,  "that's  an  alterna- 
tive. Now,  in  a  'Moth'  there  could  be  no  room  to 
stow  away.  That  leaves  the  murderer  only  the 
chance  to  go  as  passenger.  In  this  case  there  was 
a  passenger — Mrs.  Evans. 

"We  know  Mrs.  Evans  had  no  parachute.  The 
question  is,  had  Mrs.  Evans  the  means  by  which  she 
could  murder  Sir  Charles — in  this  case  a  revolver 
or  an  automatic — and  also,  had  she  the  motive  ?  Re- 
member, the  motive  in  her  case  would  have  had  to 
have  been  exceptionally  strong  for  she  herself  would 
also  have  had  to  have  been  prepared  to  perish." 

"Yes,  we  must  look  into  the  question  of  motive  very 
carefully,  Inspector,  but  it  need  not  be  as  strong  as 
you  think.  To  start  with,  once  again  we  have  only 
one  man's  evidence — again  Bailey's — that  she  had  no 


62  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

parachute.  Now  let's  suppose  Mrs.  Evans  had  a 
parachute  and  committed  the  crime — say  over 
Christchurch  Harbour.  Parachutes  don't  always 
open.  If  hers  didn't,  where  would  she  have  gone  had 
she  fallen  on  a  mud-flat?" 

"Why,  out  of  sight — held  down  by  the  mud.  I 
never  thought  of  that,"  answered  the  Superintend- 
ent. "That's  about  what  happened.  .  .  .  Probably 
we  shall  never  know  the  truth." 

"Yes,  exactly,"  said  the  Chief  Constable.  "Out  of 
sight  in  the  mud.  But  that's  only  one  of  the  possi- 
bilities. Suppose,  again,  this  time  accepting  Bailey's 
evidence  that  she  had  no  parachute,  that  she  shot  Sir 
Charles  when  over  the  same  place — those  soft,  seldom 
visited  mud-flats.  The  'plane,  Bailey  tells  me,  was 
fitted  with  dual  control.  All  she  need  have  done  after 
committing  the  murder  would  have  been  to  turn  the 
machine  upside  down.  The  body  would  have 
dropped,  and,  as  Walker  pointed  out,  it  would  re- 
main buried  deep  in  the  mud  for  all  time. 

"Now  we  know  that  she  didn't  carry  out  this  plan 
successfully,  but  we  don't  know  that  it  wasn't  at- 
tempted. In  all  probability,  if  this  was  the  method 
she  used,  after  the  shooting  of  Sir  Charles  she  turned 
the  'Moth'  upside  down,  but,  for  some  reason  that  we 
may  never  discover,  his  body  failed  to  drop.  Lots  of 
things  may  have  happened — it's  not  hard  to  imagine 
it  getting  caught  up  in  some  way.  Then,  before  she 
righted  the  'plane  again,  it  may  have  caught  fire — 
in  which  case  she  may  have  lost  her  nerve  and 
jumped,  meeting  the  end  she  had  planned  for  Sir 
Charles." 

"That  all  sounds  very  cut  and  dried,  sir,"  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  63 

Superintendent  remarked,  "but  assuming1,  as  you 
are,  that  Mrs.  Evans  intended  to  save  her  own  life, 
you  come  up  against  a  snag.  What  would  Mrs. 
Evans  tell  the  authorities  had  happened  to  Sir 
Charles?" 

'The  question  I  expected,  Walker.  The  answer  is 
obvious.  She  would  say  they  hit  a  bump  or  air- 
pocket  that  turned  the  machine  over,  throwing  Sir 
Charles  out.  Simple,  isn't  it?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  put  in  Hunt  again,  "but  I  see  an- 
other snag.  Don't  you  think  that  the  odds  against 
Mrs.  Evans'  being  able  to  turn  the  'plane  over  ex- 
actly at  the  right  moment  for  the  body  to  fall  on  a 
mud-flat  are  very  great?  And  if  the  body  didn't  fall 
on  a  mud-flat  it  would  fall  in  the  harbour  itself — and 
that  would  mean  that  sooner  or  later  it  would  come  to 
light.  And  then  the  doctors  would  have  found  the 
bullet  wound,  and  things  would  have  begun  to  look 
black  against  Mrs.  Evans.  No,  I  can't  agree  with 
3Tour  theory — I'm  afraid  it's  too  far  fetched." 

"Possibly,  Inspector.  Perhaps  the  risk  would  be 
too  big  for  her  to  take.  But  I've  still  one  more  pos- 
sibility. Supposing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  were  work- 
ing in  collusion  .  .  .  would  it  have  been  possible  for 
Mrs.  Evans  to  have  shot  Sir  Charles,  set  the  'plane 
on  fire,  and  jumped  to  her  husband's  'plane  beneath 
— v/ithout  a  parachute,  mind  you — I  remember  read- 
ing an  account  of  a  stunt  flyer  doing  this  in  Amer- 
ica— for  the  films,  I  believe." 

"It  could  have  been  done  in  daylight,  I  suppose — 
but  remember,  this  murder  was  committed  in  the 
dark,"  replied  Hunt. 

"Yes — I  didn't  take  that  factor  into  considera- 


64  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

tion,"  assented  the  Chief  Constable.    "I  think  we  can 
safely  leave  that  theory  out." 

"Well,"  started  the  Superintendent,  "we  don't 
seem  to  have  made  much  progress,  for  all  our  theories 
have  met  with  objections,  but  I  think  I  can  see 
what  our  next  move  must  be.  Pull  me  up  if  you 
find  my  reasoning  at  fault. 

"It  seems  to  me  that,  in  spite  of  the  various  objec- 
tions, Mrs.  Evans  is  still  the  strongest  suspect.  If 
we  accept  Bailey's  evidence,  she  had  no  parachute, 
and  it  follows  that  she  perished.  To  make  a  case 
out  against  her  it  is  necessary  to  find  the  motive — 
and,  as  Inspector  Hunt  says,  it's  got  to  be  a  very 
strong  one.  This  means  an  examination  of  her 
household — a  trip  to  Moorlands  appears  to  me  to  be 
indicated. 

"Again,  taking  the  other  theory — improbable  as  it 
appears  to  me — that  young  Evans  murdered  both 
Sir  Charles  and  his  wife.  Again  we  need  a  motive, 
and  again  the  best  place  to  look  for  evidence  that 
that  motive  exists  is  Moorlands." 

"Yes,  I  think  you're  right,"  agreed  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. Then,  "What  do  you  suggest,  Inspector — 
you  seem  to  be  thinking  deeply  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  am,"  answered  Hunt  with  a  smile.  "I'm  think- 
ing of  one  of  the  extraordinary  features  of  the  case 
that  both  you  and  Superintendent  Walker  appear  to 
have  overlooked." 

"And  that  is  ?"  asked  the  Chief  Constable  eagerly. 

"Why  did  it  take  Sir  Charles  seventeen  minutes  to 
fly  a  distance  of  only  twelve  miles?" 

"A  point  we've  missed,  Inspector,  as  you  say.  I 
wonder?  Even  if  my  theory  of  Mrs.  Evans'  tipping, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  65 

or,  rather,  attempting  to  tip,  the  body  out  is  correct, 
it  doesn't  explain  the  loss  of  time  satisfactorily. 

"The  speed  of  Sir  Charles'  'plane  would  be  at  least 
a  hundred  miles  an  hour.  Twelve  miles  at  a  hun- 
dred miles  per  hour.  That  would  take  him,  roughly, 
just  over  seven  minutes.  A  margin  of  ten  unac- 
counted for." 

"No,  hardly  that,  sir.  He  wouldn't  do  that  speed 
whilst  climbing.  We  know  it  was  a  'hotted  up'  ma- 
chine, and  would  climb  on  a  calm  day  at  a  good 
eighty  miles  per  hour,  but,  to  be  on  the  safe  side, 
we'll  say  he  only  did  seventy.  The  wind  was  negli- 
gible— we'll  say  ten  miles  per  hour.  That  brings  his 
speed  over  the  land  down  to  sixty  miles  per  hour. 
At  that  rate  it  should  have  taken  him  just  twelve 
minutes — he  should  have  been  over  the  Head  at  3.12. 
There's  still  a  deficit  of  five  minutes,  even  with  my 
generous  figures.  The  time  taken  to  tip  a  body  out 
would  hardly  run  into  seconds,  of  course." 

"Well,  what  is  your  theory,  Inspector?  You've 
formed  one,  I  wager,"  said  the  Chief  Constable. 

"Not  yet,  sir.  I'm  trying  to  decide  if  he  could 
have  landed.  I  know  it  would  be  terribly  risky  to 
attempt  to  do  so  in  the  dark,  if  not  impossible,  es- 
pecially as  we  know  he  took  off  again.  But,  even  if 
he  did,  I  fail  to  see  where  it  all  fits  in,"  replied  Hunt. 

"I  believe  you  said  one  of  the  points  we  had  over- 
looked?" queried  the  Superintendent.  "Don't  tell 
us  we  have  missed  another." 

"I'm  afraid  you  have,  Superintendent,  and  in  my 
opinion  it's  the  most  important  and  obvious  factor 
in  the  whole  case." 

"And  what  is  it?" 


66  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Simply  that  whoever  killed  Sir  Charles  murdered 
the  policeman  also.  But  I  agree,"  the  Yard  man 
added,  "that  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do  now  is  to 
go  along  to  young  Evans'  place  and  try  to  pick  up 
some  helpful  information." 


VI 
HUNT  VISITS  MOORLANDS 

THE  little  discussion  had  taken  the  three  only  half  an 
hour,  so  by  seven  o'clock  Hunt  found  himself  once 
more  in  Walker's  car.  This  time,  though,  he  was 
occupying  the  rear  seat,  the  Chief  Constable  being 
seated  in  the  Inspector's  original  place. 

As  he  left  the  "Bull"  to  enter  the  car  the  Yard 
man  bought  a  paper  from  a  newsboy  standing  near, 
and  as  soon  as  they  were  on  the  move  he  turned  up 
the  accounts  of  the  tragedies. 

He  found  his  photograph  in  a  prominent  position 
on  the  front  page,  and  a  very  flattering  reference  to 
himself  in  the  column  beneath. 

"Inspector  Hunt,  of  the  C.I.D.,"  he  read,  "is  in 
charge  of  the  case  [this  was,  of  course,  the  case  of  the 
murdered  Constable  James,  the  result  of  the  inquest 
on  Sir  Charles  not  yet  having  reached  the  papers], 
and  if  he  shows  his  usual  brilliance  the  murderer  will, 
no  doubt,  soon  be  brought  to  justice. 

"Inspector  Hunt,"  it  continued,  "it  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  responsible  for  the  arrest  and  conviction 
of  Ernest  Collier,  the  Guildford  poisoner.  His 
handling  of  the  case,  when  his  superiors  had  all  failed 
dismally,  won  him  well-deserved  praise  and  promo- 
tion from  the  authorities,  and  he  is  still  the  youngest 
detective-inspector  at  the  Yard.  Indeed,  it  -seemed 
hard  to  believe  that  the  almost  boyish  figure  seated 

67 


, 

68  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

next  to  the  Chief  Constable  at  the  inquest  this  after- 
noon was  Inspector  Hunt,  the  possessor  of  one  of 
the  ablest  brains  in  the  force  to-day." 

Hunt  smiled  as  he  read  the  compliment.  True,  he 
was  young,  and  felt  young.  At  thirty-two  it  needed 
still  more  than  a  couple  of  murders  to  damp  his  out- 
look on  life. 

Glancing  over  the  account  of  the  murder  of  Con- 
stable James,  who  was  described  as  one  of  the  most 
promising  young  officers  in  the  local  constabulary, 
and  an  invaluable  member  of  the  "Rovers"  football 
team,  he  passed  on  to  the  account  of  the  disaster  on 
the  Head. 

"Sir  Charles  Stafford,"  he  read,  "will  be  remem- 
bered chiefly  for  his  pioneer  work  in  aviation.  His 

lone  double  crossing  of  the  Atlantic  in  a  will 

stand  for  all  time  as  an  epic  example  to  the  world  of 
what  British  courage  and  British  machinery  can 
accomplish. 

"Born  in  1899  in  Bermuda,  he  was  brought  to 
England  at  an  early  age.  After  a  few  years  at  a 

preparatory  school  he  entered [here  the  name 

of  a  famous  Public  School  was  mentioned],  his  edu- 
cation being  interrupted  by  the  war.  He  saw  service 
in  France  with  the  Air  Force  from  July  1917  until 
the  cessation  of  hostilities. 

"He  then  went  up  to  Oxford,  where  he  distin- 
guished himself  in  all  branches  of  sport.  He  was  a 
member  of  O.U.D.S.  After  completing  his  studies, 
he  devoted  his  attention  to  aeronautical  affairs, 
mostly  on  the  Continent,  and  in  19 —  began  to  blaze 
the  trail  with  long-distance  flights  to  all  quarters  of 
the  globe.  He  was  unmarried." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  69 

As  he  read,  Hunt  recalled  the  tumultuous  welcome 
Sir  Charles  had  received  in  Town  after  his  Atlantic 
flights,  and  saw  again  the  graceful,  well-set-up  figure 
and  smiling,  handsome  features  of  the  baronet  ac- 
knowledging the  cheers  of  the  populace;  and  as  the 
fleeting  vision  passed  he  swore  to  himself  that  he 
would  do  all  he  could  to  bring  the  murderer  to 
justice. 

Looking  down  the  column,  he  found  a  short  refer- 
ence to  Dennis  Evans.  "Mr.  Evans,"  he  read,  "has 
resided  on  the  outskirts  of  Bournemouth  for  the  past 
three  years.  Both  he  and  his  wife,  the  passenger  re- 
ferred to  above,  are  very  popular  locally.  They  have 
both  taken  a  keen  interest  in  one  of  the  leading  ama- 
teur theatrical  companies  in  the  district,  and  at  the 
present  moment  are  making  a  film  in  which  they  both 
have  parts. 

"It  is  still  believed  possible  that  Mrs.  Evans  has 
escaped  the  disaster,  and  it  is  hoped  that  by  the  time 
this  appears  in  print  news  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Evans  will  be  to  hand." 

It  was  obvious  to  Hunt  that  the  editor  had  sensed 
a  mystery  and  hardly  knew  the  best  way  to  word  the 
paragraph. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  turned  in  the  drive  and 
drew  up  at  the  house,  a  large  modern  residence  sit- 
uated just  over  the  boundary  of  the  town. 

Although  it  stood  in  its  own  grounds,  Hunt  saw 
at  once  that  Evans  could  not  have  kept  his  'plane 
there,  for  the  well-kept  lawns,  though  spacious,  were 
not  half  large  enough  to  allow  a  safe  landing,  let 
alone  a  take-off. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Evans'  butler-valet,  a 


70  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

man  named  Davis,  who  knew  the  Superintendent, 
and  had  seen  his  car  approaching  up  the  drive. 

He  had  learned  of  the  suspected  murder  of  Sir 
Charles  from  the  chauffeur  who  had  attended  the  in- 
quest, so,  guessing  some  awkward  questions  would  be 
asked,  he  immediately  showed  them  into  a  small,  well- 
furnished  room  overlooking  the  gardens,  which  was 
more  secluded  than  the  rest  of  the  house. 

This  was  the  room  that  Evans  used  as  his  office. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  many  sporting  prints 
and  photographs.  A  typewriter  and  a  telephone 
stood  on  a  desk  by  the  window,  while  down  two  sides 
of  the  room  ran  shelves  of  books,  mostly  dealing  with 
sporting  subjects.  A  couple  of  gun  cases  hung  on 
the  wall  by  the  door,  and  near  by,  on  the  floor,  was 
stretched  the  fine  skin  of  a  tiger  that  Evans  had 
himself  bagged. 

A  real  man's  room,  thought  Hunt,  as  he  seated 
himself  by  the  table  in  the  centre. 

The  Superintendent  opened  the  inquiry.  "You 
may  not  have  heard,"  he  began,  addressing  Davis  in 
a  kindly  tone,  "but  we  have  discovered  that  Sir 
Charles  Stafford's  death  was  not  due  to  his  accident, 
as  we  at  first  believed,  but  to  a  bullet  wound  in  the 
head.  In  plain  English,  unless  we  are  very  much 
mistaken,  we  are  investigating  a  case  of  murder. 

"It  is  quite  possible,  Davis,  that  you  will  be  able 
to  help  us  considerably  with  our  investigations,  and 
I  hope  you  will  do  your  best  to  answer  any  questions 
that  Inspector  Hunt  or  the  Chief  Constable  may  put 
to  you." 

"Certainly,  sir.  I  will  do  my  best  to  help,"  an- 
swered Davis  politely. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  71 

"Well,  then,  Inspector,  perhaps  you'd  be  good 
enough  to  carry  on?"  said  the  Superintendent,  ex- 
changing his  seat  on  the  corner  of  the  table  for  one 
of  the  well-padded  chairs. 

"Take  a  seat,  Davis,  and  make  yourself  com- 
fortable," began  Hunt,  knowing  the  best  way  to  get 
information  of  the  kind  he  was  after  was  by  show- 
ing civility  and  tact. 

"Now,  to  start  with,"  he  continued,  "I  don't  know 
exactly  what  kind  of  life  Mr.  Evans  leads.  Has  he 
an  income,  do  you  know,  or  is  he  in  business  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Davis.  "He  has  an  income  and  he 
is  also  in  business." 

"Oh,  both !  I  see.  And  where  is  his  business  sit- 
uated? Is  it  local?" 

"No,  it's  not  local.  It's  in  Town.  The  Stock  Ex- 
change, I  believe — though  I'm  not  sure  about  that," 
answered  the  valet. 

"Does  he  go  to  Town  every  day?" 

"No,  not  every  day — never  more  than  twice  a 
week.  Lately  he  hasn't  been  as  much  as  that." 

"No.     How  often  has  he  been  going  lately,  then  ?" 

The  valet  thought  for  a  moment.  "Not  more  than 
a  couple  of  times  in  the  last  month  or  six  weeks." 

"I  see.  Now — how  long  have  you  been  with  Mr. 
Evans?" 

"Two  years  and  a  half,  sir." 

"He  has  only  lived  at  Moorlands  for  about  three 
years,  I  understand.  Have  you  any  idea  where  he 
lived  before  that?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't,  sir.  I  believe  he  used 
to  travel  a  lot — mostly  on  the  Continent." 

"That  doesn't  help  us  much,  I'm  afraid.     You 


72  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

haven't  noticed  any  change  in  Mr.  Evans'  manner 
lately,  have  you?  For  instance,  has  he  seemed  wor- 
ried or  upset  in  any  way?" 

The  valet  hesitated.  "Now  you  mention  it,  sir, 
I  have.  Nothing  very  much,  but  he  has  seemed  to  be 
a  little  preoccupied — doesn't  take  any  notice  of  a 
question  one  might  ask  him,  and  he  is  very  nervous 
at  times." 

"How  long  ago  was  it  when  you  first  noticed  this 
change  ?" 

"About  the  time  he  stopped  going  to  his  office — 
a  month  or  six  weeks." 

"Some  business  worry,  probably.  Now,  about 
Mrs.  Evans.  I  understand  she  was  a  qualified  pilot?" 

"Yes,"  the  valet  replied.  "She  has  been  flying  now 
for  some  eighteen  months." 

"This  is  rather  a  personal  question.  I  want  you  to 
think  carefully  before  you  answer.  Has  anything 
occurred  to  make  you  think  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans 
are  not  getting  on  so  well  together  as  they  might?" 

"No,  nothing.    Mr.  Evans  is  devoted  to  her." 

Hunt  put  a  few  more  somewhat  similar  questions 
to  him,  but  was  unable  to  get  the  answer  he  desired. 
Then  he  brought  Sir  Charles  Stafford's  name  into  the 
conversation,  but  with  still  the  same  result.  Both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  were  exceptionally  friendly  with 
him.  No,  there  had  never  been  any  quarrel  between 
them,  he  was  sure. 

Seeing  that  he  would  be  unlikely  to  get  any  fur- 
ther information  from  the  valet,  he  turned  the  con- 
versation on  to  more  general  lines.  He  soon  learned 
that  the  Evans  household  was  made  up  of  the  valet, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  73 

housekeeper,  cook,  three  maids,  a  gardener,  and  the 
chauffeur. 

The  aeroplane  was  kept  on  a  farm  some  couple  of 
miles  away,  the  chauffeur,  an  ex-R.A.F.  man,  keep- 
ing it  in  order. 

"I  think  I  should  like  to  see  the  housekeeper  now. 
Will  you  go  and  ask  her  if  she  can  spare  us  a  few 
minutes?"  asked  Hunt,  dismissing  the  valet. 

Davis  left  the  room,  and  the  housekeeper,  a  rather 
stern-looking  woman  of  about  forty,  was  soon  in  the 
chair  he  had  vacated. 

Similar  questions  were  asked — again  with  the  same 
replies.  She  had,  she  told  him,  noticed  a  change 
come  over  Mr.  Evans  lately.  He  seemed  to  be  lost  in 
thought  for  hours  on  end.  He  wrould  start  too  if 
the  doorbell  rang,  or  if  any  stranger  came  up  the 
drive.  She  was  sure  he  had  something  on  his  mind, 
and  went  about  expecting  something  to  happen. 

No,  she  had  no  idea  what  his  business  was.  Like 
the  valet,  she  thought  he  was  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  was  devoted  to  his 
wife,  she  was  sure. 

The  chauffeur  was  sent  for  next.  He  had  no  idea 
where  Mr.  Evans'  office  was  situated.  He  would  drop 
him  at  his  club  and  pick  him  up  there  again  later, 
generally  the  next  afternoon. 

Mrs.  Evans  never  accompanied  him  to  Town  when 
he  went  on  business.  When  they  went  on  a  shopping 
expedition,  or  for  pleasure,  they  usually  travelled  by 
air. 

Mrs.  Evans  was  crazy  on  flying — caught  the  craze 
from  Sir  Charles  Stafford,  he  thought. 

Two   of   the   maids   who   followed   the   chauffeur 


74  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

could  add  little  the  trio  did  not  already  know.  It 
seemed  to  Hunt  that  in  suspecting  either  Mr.  or 
Mrs.  Evans  he  was  definitely  on  the  wrong  track. 
From  what  he  had  heard,  he  gathered  that  they  were 
an  unusually  happy  young  couple,  blessed  with  an 
abundance  of  the  world's  riches.  Mr.  Evans'  recent 
unnaturalness  was,  he  thought,  no  doubt  due  to  some 
business  worry. 

Then  Dorothy  Mills,  Mrs.  Evans'  young  maid,  en- 
tered, and  soon  shattered  Hunt's  newly  formed  illu- 
sions, plunging  him  again  into  a  maze  of  suspicion. 

She  was  a  pretty  brunette,  with  laughing  eyes, 
well-spoken,  and  completely  at  her  ease.  It  seemed 
certain  to  Hunt  she  had  seen  better  days. 

Her  room,  she  said,  was  directly  over  that  of  Mrs. 
Evans.  Several  times  lately  she  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Evans  sobbing  bitterly  in  the 
night. 

"Oh !"  said  Hunt.  "I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  Have 
you  any  idea  what  the  trouble  was  ?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "I  have  an 
idea — but  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  tell  you!  .  .  . 
Will  you  promise  to  keep  it  secret  if  I  do?" 

"Of  course!"  replied  Hunt.  "Anything  you  tell 
me — unless  it  has  a  bearing  on  the  case  and  is  used 
in  evidence — will  remain  a  secret." 

The  girl  still  looked  a  trifle  dubious.  "I  don't  see 
how  it  can  come  out  in  evidence,  and,  if  you  promise 
to  keep  it  to  yourself,  I  think  I  can  tell  you  what  is 
worrying  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans,"  she  said  at 
length. 

"I  promise,"   said  Hunt,   with  barely   concealed 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  75 

eagerness.  "Now — just  what  is  worrying  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Evans?" 

"Well,"  the  maid  began,  "the  first  time  I  heard 
Mrs.  Evans  crying  would  be  about  a  month  ago.  I 
had  not  been  feeling  well,  so  I  went  to  bed  early. 
The  sound  woke  me  up — about  midnight.  Mr. 
Evans  wras  in  the  room  with  her.  He  was  talking — 
softly  at  first.  Mrs.  Evans'  sobs  continued.  I 
couldn't  hear  what  he  was  saying.  Then  all  at  once 
he  raised  his  voice. 

"  'If  we  are  ruined,'  he  said,  'you've  only  your  ex- 
travagance to  blame  for  it.'  He  spoke  softly  again 
for  a  while;  then,  later,  I  caught  a  bit  more  of  the 
conversation.  'If  I  knew  who' — then  a  name  I 
couldn't  catch — *was,  I'd  get  him,  even  if  I  swung 
for  it.'  That  was  all  I  heard  that  night. 

"About  a  week  later  he  was  talking  again.  It  was 
a  sultry  night — we  had  a  thunderstorm  about  3  A.M. 
— and  my  bedroom  window  was  wide  open.  I 
couldn't  sleep  and  I  was  sitting  in  my  dressing-gown 
looking  out  over  the  golf-course.  The  lightning  was 
quite  vivid,  and  I  was  wondering  whether  we  should 
get  the  storm — we  don't  often  here,  you  know.  I'm 
frightened  to  death  of  thunder,  and  I  was  just  think- 
ing of  going  into  cook's  room  next  door  when  Mr. 
Evans  crossed  the  floor  below  and  opened  the  window. 

"He  only  spoke  a  few  words,  but  I  caught  them 
all.  'That's  the  only  wray,  Peggy,  I'm  afraid,'  he 
said.  'We'll  go  over  to  the  States — and  from  there 
to  somewhere  where  the  law  can't  touch  us.  I  may 
not  be  able  to  save  much  from  the  wreck,  but  what 
little  I  have  by  me  will  keep  us  going  if  we  live 
quietly — anyhow,  it's  that  or  nothing.'  As  you 


76  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

know,  they  were  sailing  to-day.  That's  all  I  can 
tell  you,  I'm  afraid." 

"Extraordinary.  I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  put  in 
Walker,  when  the  maid  had  excused  herself.  "Young 
Evans  bolting.  It  just  shows  you — one  half  of  the 
world  never  guesses  how  the  other  half  lives." 

It  was  plain  the  Superintendent  was  shaken.  His 
faith  in  the  innocence  of  young  Evans  had  known  no 
bounds.  "This  alters  the  case  considerably,"  he  was 
bound  to  admit. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Chief  Constable,  "it  does — and 
for  the  moment  I  must  confess  I  fail  to  see  what's  to 
be  done  next." 

"So  do  I.  We're  up  against  a  deadlock,"  said 
Walker.  "What  do  you  suggest,  Inspector?" 

"I  must  agree  that  we  seem  to  have  come  to  a 
dead-end,  but  remember,  we  have  made  good  prog- 
ress. If  we  could  only  ascertain  the  nature  of  his 
business,  I  think  we  should  also  find  the  key  to  the 
mystery.  It  seems  obvious  to  me  that  some  rival  has 
been  ruining  him.  You'll  remember  he  said,  'If  I 
knew  who  somebody  or  other  is,  I'd  get  him,  even 
if  I  swung  for  it." 

"If  he  himself  didn't  know  who  his  competitor  was, 
we  don't  stand  much  chance  of  finding  out,  until,  at 
least,  we  know  his  business." 

"Quite,"  remarked  the  Chief  Constable.  "The 
next  thing  to  do  is  to  get  on  the  track  of  this  mys- 
terious business.  I  say  mysterious  deliberately,  be- 
cause if  no  one  in  his  house,  not  even  his  chauffeur, 
knew  what  or  where  his  business  was,  it  must  be 
something  that  he  doesn't  want  talked  about." 

"And  add  to  that,"  suggested  Walker,  "the  fact 


77 

that  he  talks  about  killing  a  rival,  then  it  becomes 
easy  to  make  more  than  a  wild  guess." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Chief  Constable.  "Mem- 
bers of  the  Stock  Exchange  certainly  don't  go  about 
threatening  to  kill  one  another.  It  sounds  more  like 
dope  trafficking  or  rum-running  to  me.  What  do 
you  say,  Inspector?" 

"I  certainly  agree,  sir,  that  your  suspicions  may 
prove  to  be  well  founded.  But  we  are  sure  of  noth- 
ing yet,  and  I  think  it's  unwise  to  work  out  theories 
until  we're  certain  they  are  being  built  on  solid 
ground.  To  my  mind,  here  we  have  a  case  of  a  man 
saying  he  is  going  to  commit  a  murder.  This  same 
man  is  last  seen  flying  off  with  a  man  who  is  after- 
wards found  murdered  in  his  aeroplane.  We  know  of 
no  cause  of  ill-feeling  between  the  two  men.  But 
don't  you  agree  that  the  best  place  to  search  for  evi- 
dence of  this  ill-feeling  is  at  the  home  of  the  mur- 
dered man?" 

"He's  right  again,  Superintendent.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  commit  a  murder  and  have  him  on  my  trail," 
said  the  Chief  Constable,  with  unconcealed  admira- 
tion. 

They  rose  and  passed  out  through  the  study  door. 
In  the  hall  a  smartly-dressed,  vivacious,  but  rather 
over-painted  lady  stood  talking  to  the  valet. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  the  Superintendent  she  made 
over  to  him.  "Isn't  it  terrible !"  she  began  excitedly. 
"Poor  Peggy,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  to  have  come 
to  such  an  end. 

"And  poor  Sir  Charles  too.  A  blessing  perhaps, 
though,  in  some  ways.  She  would  have  died  of 
grief  in  any  case.  So  terribly  in  love  with  him, 


78  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

you  know.  I  never  could  understand  it  myself. 
Poor  Dennis  gave  her  everything  she  asked  for  to 
make  her  happy.  Never  a  bit  jealous  or  angry. 
Such  a  gentleman.  I  do  hope  nothing  has  happened 
to  him.  Where  do  you  think  he  is,  Superintendent?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  say,  Mrs.  Birch ;  it's  a  mystery 
to  me.  Allow  me  to  introduce  Major  Williams,  the 
Chief  Constable;  and  Detective-Inspector  Hunt  of 
Scotland  Yard." 

"So  delighted  to  meet  you,"  she  said  to  Hunt. 
"I'm  really  quite  thrilled.  It's  the  first  time  I've 
met  a  real  detective.  I  was  beginning  to  think  they 
existed  only  in  novels." 

As  she  spoke,  Hunt  felt  the  Superintendent  dig 
him  in  the  back.  "We  must  hurry,  Inspector,"  he 
said.  "We've  a  lot  to  do  before  dark." 

Hunt  took  the  hint,  and,  apologising  to  Mrs. 
Birch,  who  was  preparing  a  long  string  of  questions 
to  fire  at  him,  for  his  hurried  departure,  followed  the 
Superintendent  and  Major  Williams  to  the  car. 

Once  up  the  drive  and  out  of  hearing,  the  Super- 
intendent let  fty.  "Of  all  the  insufferable  bores  and 
evil-tongued  scandalmongers  I've  ever  met,  that  wo- 
man takes  the  biscuit. 

"My  poor  Peggy  this,  and  my  poor  Peggy  that, 
when  all  the  time  she  hates  her  like  poison.  Why, 
Mrs.  Evans  even  forbade  her  the  house  a  short  time 
ago.  She'd  turn  in  her  grave,  I'm  certain,  were  she 
to  know  that  Davis  had  let  that  woman  in. 

"I  forget  exactly  how  the  climax  came,  but  I  know 
what  the  trouble  was  over.  Young  Evans  told  me 
himself.  It  appears  she  was  making  a  dead  set  at 
him,  and,  when  she  failed  to  capture  his  affections, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  79 

did  all  she  could  to  make  trouble  between  him  and  his 
wife.  Definitely  an  undesirable  sort  of  woman.  Her 
husband  left  her  long  ago — I  don't  blame  him,  poor 
devil." 

"I've  met  the  type  myself,  Superintendent,"  com- 
mented the  Chief  Constable,  "though  luckily  they're 
few  and  far  between." 

"And  I  too,"  added  Hunt,  "but,  as  much  as  I 
despise  them,  I  never  allow  myself  to  overlook  the 
fact  that  even  they  sometimes  speak  the  truth." 


VII 
THE  CUT  TIRE  MYSTERY 

THE  long  spring  evening  was  drawing  to  a  close  when 
the  Superintendent's  car  drew  up  outside  Sir  Charles 
Stafford's  lovely  residence  on  the  edge  of  the  New 
Forest. 

Hunt,  who  had  never  before  visited  Lymington,  en- 
joyed every  moment  of  the  drive,  and  was  almost 
sorry  when  at  last  he  had  to  drag  his  tired  body  from 
the  luxurious,  well-sprung  upholstery  of  Walker's 
car.  But,  tired  as  he  was,  he  roused  himself  quickly 
at  the  sight  of  another  car,  a  Rolls-Royce,  standing 
outside  the  front  door. 

"Mr.  Day,  for  a  fiver,"  he  said  aloud.  "I  wonder 
if  he'll  have  anything  to  tell  us?" 

His  surmise  was  quite  correct.  Mr.  Day  was  in  the 
hall  talking  to  the  butler. 

Directly  he  saw  the  Superintendent  he  hurried 
over  to  him.  Hunt  could  see  he  was  flushed  and  ex- 
cited, and,  he  thought,  looked  not  altogether  sober. 

"Oh,  Superintendent !"  he  began,  in  a  rather  loud, 
excited  manner.  "I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  You'll 
never  guess  what's  happened. 

"You  know  I  was  supposed  to  be  staying  here  last 
night?  I  didn't  though,  of  course,  but  that  doesn't 
matter — at  least,  not  a  lot,  only  if  I  had  I  should 
have  found  out  sooner. 

"I  must  have  changed  suit-cases  with  Mrs.  Evans 

80 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  81 

— when  it  happened  I  can't  say.  Anyhow,  it  did 
happen.  Imagine  my  surprise,  Superintendent, 
when  I  opened  my  bag — or  should  I  say  what  I  took 
to  be  my  bag — this  morning?  What  do  you  think  it 
contained?" 

The  Superintendent  seemed  a  bit  dazed  by  this 
torrent  of  words,  and  repeated  the  question  aloud. 
"What  should  I  expect  to  find  if  I  opened  a  lady's 
suit-case?  Why — some  of  her  clothes,  I  expect. 
Maybe  even  some  underclothes,"  he  added  gravely. 

"Just  so,  Superintendent,  so  should  I,  and  if  I 
had  I  should  have  said  nothing,  but  returned  it 
quietly  to  her  house.  But  I  didn't — that's  the  funny 
part. 

"There  were  no  clothes.  None  at  all.  Nothing — 
not  even  a  toothbrush!  No  nothing — nothing  but 
money ! 

"Stacks  of  money — all  notes — hundreds  of  'em — 
no,  thousands — and  all  five-pound  notes." 

"Where  are  they?"  asked  Hunt  quickly.  "Have 
you  them  with  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Day.  "Of  course  I  have.  I've 
brought  them  back  here  where  I  found  them.  Stur- 
man  has  helped  me  to  put  them  in  the  safe.  They'll 
be  safe  there,  whose  ever  they  are." 

"Well,  if  this  isn't  the  limit,"  remarked  the  Chief 
Constable  to  Walker,  in  an  undertone.  "But  for  this 
drunken  fool  all  this  money  would  have  been  lost  for 
ever.  It  seems  to  me  that  young  Evans  has  man- 
aged to  save  a  considerable  amount  from  the  wreck 
after  all." 

They  followed  Hunt  and  Day  to  a  massive  safe 
let  into  the  wall  of  Sir  Charles'  study.  Sturman 


82  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

knew  the  combination ;  he  kept  the  silver  there,  he  ex- 
plained. 

He  dialled  the  letters  C.H.A.L.Y.M.,  turned  the 
key,  and  the  heavy  door  swung  open.  The  Inspector 
reached  for  the  suit-case,  a  neat  blue  expanding  one, 
with  the  initials  P.E.,  painted  in  black  letters  on  the 
front.  Carrying  it  orver  to  the  table,  he  unlocked  it 
with  Day's  key. 

It  was  filled,  as  Day  had  said,  with  five-pound 
notes,  pile  upon  pile,  bound  with  elastic — and  all  ap- 
parently genuine. 

He  set  to  work  to  count  them  roughly.  The  piles 
all  seemed  to  contain  an  equal  number.  He  counted 
one  quickly.  A  thousand  notes — £5,000. 

Quickly  he  counted  the  bundles.  There  were  fifty. 
"Strewth!"  he  exclaimed.  .  .  .  "Fifty  times  five 
thousand — a  fortune.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand. A  quarter  of  a  million." 

He  glanced  at  some  of  the  numbers.  To  his  sur- 
prise, few  of  them  were  consecutive.  A  quarter  of 
a  million  of  untraceable  money ! 

"  'And  we  shall  have  to  live  very  quietly.'  Good 
Lord !  How  could  he  have  called  himself  ruined  with 
this  lot? 

"I  say,  Superintendent,  we  can't  leave  all  this  here. 
You  must  take  it  to  the  station  and  lock  it  away 
until  to-morrow  and  then  bank  it.  My  Goodness! 
I've  never  handled  a  case  with  so  many  staggering 
surprises." 

The  others  were  equally  astounded. 

The  Chief  Constable  grasped  the  table  for  sup- 
port, while  Sturman  seemed  totally  unable  to  keep 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  83 

his  bulging  eyes  away  from  the  table,  however  hard 
he  tried  to  preserve  his  usual  dignified  manner. 

Day,  who  had  had  all  this  wealth  in  his  hands, 
seemed  equally  shaken  by  the  disclosures.  He  had 
hurriedly  returned  it  to  the  house  without  thought, 
too  drunk,  or  too  startled,  to  trouble  to  count  it. 
What  a  chance  he  had  missed !  The  money  untrace- 
able,  and  the  owner  of  it,  in  all  probability,  dead. 
Rich  though  he  already  was,  the  desire  to  accumu- 
late more  was  still  strong  within  him. 

Hunt  could  guess  from  his  downfallen  countenance 
what  was  passing  through  the  man's  mind.  Little 
wonder  too,  for  the  temptation  to  any  man  to  say 
nothing,  had  he  known  just  how  much  the  case  con- 
tained, would  have  been  almost  overwhelmingly 
strong,  and  the  chance  of  detection  practically  nil. 
Even  if  Evans  had  afterwards  turned  up  and  claimed 
the  money,  Day  could  have  pretended  he  had  not  yet 
unpacked  the  suit-case  and  discovered  his  mistake. 

The  unhappy-looking  man  soon  left  the  room,  pre- 
sumably to  seek  solace  in  liquid  refreshment. 

"Well,  this  certainly  does  confirm  the  maid's  story, 
Inspector,"  commenced  the  Chief'  Constable,  "but 
otherwise  it  doesn't  get  us  any  nearer  our  goal." 

"No,  sir,  it  doesn't,"  Hunt  replied.  "We'd  better 
put  this  back  in  the  safe  for  a  time  and  continue  our 
inquiries.  I  suggest  we  see  what  Sturman  can  tell 
us  first." 

"As  you  like,  Inspector,"  assented  Major  Wil- 
liams. 

To  begin  with,  Hunt  let  the  butler  tell  of  how  he 
obtained  his  post  and  of  what  little  he  knew  of  Sir 
Charles'  earlier  life  in  his  own  way.  But  Sturman 


84  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

was  unable  to  divulge  anything  Hunt  did  not  already 
know. 

Seeing  that  this  method  was  a  waste  of  time,  and 
looked  like  serving  no  useful  purpose,  Hunt  began 
to  question  him  directly. 

"Yes,  Sturman,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "that's  all 
very  clear,  but  unfortunately  we  know  it  all  already. 
Now  let  me  ask  you  a  few  questions.  Firstly,  what 
becomes  of  the  title  and  estates  now  Sir  Charles  is 
dead?" 

"Oh!"  replied  the  butler,  "Sir  Charles  has  a  cou- 
sin— a  gentleman  named  Henry  Sandleson.  I  believe 
he  is  Sir  Charles'  next  of  kin.  He  has  been  here  once 
or  twice,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  Sir  Charles  did  not 
get  on  with  him  at  all  well.  In  fact,  the  last  time  he 
was  here  Sir  Charles  ordered  me  to  show  him  out. 
That  was  six  months  ago.  He  hasn't  been  here  since. 
I  rather  fancy,  from  what  Sir  Charles  said  at  the 
time,  he  is  a  ne'er-do-well." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  they  quarrelled  about  ?" 

"Yes — as  a  matter  of  fact,  Sir  Charles  told  me 
afterwards.  He  was  demanding  money.  I  had  strict 
orders  that  I  was  not  to  allow  him  to  enter  should 
he  ever  turn  up  again." 

"Well,  it  will  be  different  now.  I  suppose  he  has 
succeeded  to  the  title  and  estates,"  commented  Hunt. 
"He'll  put  in  an  appearance  pretty  soon,  I  expect, 
unless  he's  out  of  the  country.  Now,  you  say  Sir 
Charles  had  a  large  income.  Was  he  not  also  in 
business?" 

"No.  He  was  on  the  board  of  several  aviation  com- 
panies, that  was  all.  He  seldom  went  to  Town." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  85 

"More  of  a  figurehead,  you  mean,  than  an  active 
director?" 

"Yes,  that's  right.  It  was  an  asset  to  any  firm 
to  get  his  name  on  their  letter-heads." 

"I  see."  Then — "Did  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  often 
visit  him?" 

"Oh,  yes !  They  were  great  friends.  They  came 
over  several  times  a  week.  Mrs.  Evans  especially. 
She  used  to  golf  a  good  deal  with  Sir  Charles." 

"Oh  .  .  .  now  ...  do  you  happen  to  know 
where  Sir  Charles  lived  before  he  came  to  Forest 
Court?" 

"Yes.  He  used  to  live  at  Harrow.  I  believe  Mrs. 
Evans  came  from  somewhere  near  that  district.  I 
understand  that  was  where  she  first  met  Sir  Charles. 
She  was  unmarried  then,  of  course." 

"Was  she —    How  long  has  she  been  married?" 

"Just  over  three  years,  I  believe.  Sir  Charles  was 
best  man  at  the  wedding.  I  can  show  you  a  photo- 
graph of  the  couple  leaving  the  church — of  course, 
this  was  all  before  my  time,  but  Mrs.  Allen,  Sir 
Charles'  old  nurse,  told  me  this  before  she  died.  She 
was  with  him  all  his  life — or,  I  should  say,  with  the 
family.  Sir  Charles  lived  with  an  uncle,  who  has 
since  died,  when  he  first  came  to  England.  This  Mrs. 
Allen  stayed  on  as  housekeeper  when  Sir  Charles 
went  to  school.  After  his  uncle  died,  Sir  Charles  had 
old  Mrs.  Allen  here — pensioned  her  off,  as  it  were,  till 
she  died." 

Hunt  thought  for  a  moment.  "Have  you  any 
idea  if  Sir  Charles  and  Mrs.  Evans  quarrelled  re- 
cently?" he  asked. 


86  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Quarrelled  ?  No,  I  should  think  not.  They  were 
the  best  of  friends." 

"You  must  have  seen  a  lot  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans 
together.  Did  they  always  strike  you  as  being  a 
happy  couple?" 

"Yes,  always.    I  feel  sure  they  were." 

Hunt  tried  several  more  questions,  but  was  unable 
to  extract  any  further  information.  That  he  had  ob- 
tained had  been  given  freely,  and  he  had  no  reason 
to  suspect  the  man  of  withholding  anything  im- 
portant. 

Next  he  intimated  that  he  wanted  to  go  from  the 
study  to  the  hangar  where  Sturman  had  last  seen 
Sir  Charles  alive. 

It  was  quite  a  short  walk — down  a  passage  and 
through  a  door  set  in  the  wall  at  the  end. 

The  hangar  was  a  spacious  building,  large  enough 
to  hold  three  or  four  'planes  at  the  same  time.  A 
fast  single-seater  of  the  fighting  type  was  its  sole 
occupant. 

"A  design  of  Sir  Charles',"  remarked  the  butler, 
noticing  the  Chief  Constable  seemed  interested  in  it. 
"It  has  a  very  low  landing  speed  coupled  with  a  re- 
markable performance.  Sir  Charles  intended  to 
place  it  on  the  market  shortly." 

There  was  obviously  nothing  there  that  would  help 
in  the  solving  of  the  crimes,  so  Hunt  passed  on 
through  an  open  door  into  the  garage.  Two  cars 
stood  there — the  Rover  and  a  sports  Bugatti. 

"Are  these  the  only  cars  Sir  Charles  possessed?" 
asked  Hunt. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  the  butler.  "There's  a  Bentley 
too." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  87 

"A  Bentley  too.     Where's  that  kept?" 

"In  here  usually — but  just  now  it's  up  in  the  re- 
pair shop." 

"And  where's  the  repair  shop?" 

"Over  by  Bailey's  house — across  the  park  by  the 
lake." 

"We're  just  going  over  there,  so  I  can  satisfy  my 
curiosity  then.  Which  is  our  quickest  way — round 
this  path  or  back  through  the  hangar?" 

"There's  not  much  in  it.  They're  both  about  the 
same.  Ah!  Here  comes  young  Jim,  the  under- 
chauffeur — he'll  show  you  across." 

A  pleasant-looking  youth  of  some  eighteen  sum- 
mers came  up  to  them.  He  had  overheard  Sturman's 
remarks,  and  was,  in  fact,  on  his  way  over  to  the 
workshop  himself. 

The  three  set  out,  and  during  the  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  walk  across  the  park  Hunt  was  engaged  in  an- 
imated conversation  with  Jim  Hucklesby.  He 
learned  that  Jim  was  an  enthusiastic  motorcyclist, 
who  was  busy  at  the  moment  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  a  machine  Sir  Charles  had  entered  for 
him  to  ride  in  the  Tourist  Trophy  race  in  the  Isle 
of  Man  next  month. 

He  was  full  of  praise  for  Sir  Charles,  who,  he  said, 
was  a  thorough  sportsman,  and  seemed  deeply 
shocked  by  the  tragedy.  He  could  not,  however,  add 
any  information  to  that  the  Inspector  had  already 
gathered. 

He  had  only  been  with  Sir  Charles  a  few  months. 
The  story  of  how  he  obtained  his  post  was  quite 
interesting. 

Sir  Charles  was  president  of  a  local  motor-cycle 


88  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

club,  and  had  presented  the  prizes  at  one  of  the 
monthly  grass  track  meetings,  when  Jim  had  carried 
off  the  majority  of  events.  Recognising  Jim  as  a 
resident  of  Lymington,  he  had  afterwards  stopped 
and  chatted  whenever  they  met. 

Then,  when  the  garage  Jim  was  employed  at  had 
closed  down,  he  had  taken  him  on  as  under-chauffeur. 
Sir  Charles  soon  discovered  that  in  Jim  he  had  an 
exceptionally  fine  driver,  and  did  all  he  could  to  help 
him  realise  his  ambition  to  win  the  Senior  Tourist 
Trophy. 

And  Jim  assured  Hunt  that  he  meant  to  make  the 
most  of  his  chance  and  ride  as  never  before. 

By  this  time  they  had  come  up  to  the  landing- 
light  that  had  given  trouble  early  that  morning. 
Jim  explained  that,  although  he  had  spent  some  time 
in  examining  it,  he  had  been  unable  to  find  any  de- 
fect. It  seemed  to  function  perfectly. 

He  said  that  the  current  for  this  lamp  was  gen- 
erated over  by  the  repair  shop,  a  hundred  yards  or 
so  away.  Sir  Charles  had  decided  it  would  be  more 
satisfactory  to  generate  the  current  for  this  part  of 
the  estate  separately  than  to  run  a  cable  across  from 
the  house  plant. 

Hunt  found  the  switch  and  pulled  it  down.  In- 
stantly a  powerful  shaft  of  light  shot  across  the  dark- 
ened park.  He  left  it  on  for  some  little  time,  but 
was  not  rewarded  with  a  flicker.  Evidently  all  was 
in  order  now. 

The  little  group  continued  towards  the  block  of 
buildings.  The  hitherto  broad,  level  park  gave  way 
here  to  a  little  plantation  of  fir-trees  on  either  side 
of  the  now  narrow  strip  of  rather  tufty  grass. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  89 

It  seemed  probable  to  Hunt  that  this  was  where 
the  'planes  had  started  their  rush  across  the  park. 
He  was  right  again  in  his  surmise,  as  he  afterwards 
learned. 

A  few  more  paces,  then  Jim  announced  that  the 
first  building  was  the  repair  shop.  He  produced  his 
keys,  and,  after  unlocking  the  door,  switched  on  the 
light. 

The  place,  large  enough  to  hold  three  cars,  was  in 
spotless  condition.  A  well-equipped  bench  ran  down 
one  side,  while  across  the  bottom  stood  the  lathes  and 
drills,  driven,  Hunt  could  see,  by  a  small  electric 
motor.  Just  inside  the  door  stood  a  couple  of  motor- 
cycles— one,  a  specially-built,  stripped  grass-track 
racing  machine,  and  the  other  one  of  the  newest  of 
road-racers. 

But  Hunt  was  not,  at  the  moment,  interested  in 
these.  His  eyes  were  all  for  the  Bentley. 

It  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  shed,  facing  the  door, 
over  an  open  pit,  and  he  saw  at  once  that  it  was  fitted 
with  Firestone  tires. 

Moving  over  to  the  car,  he  quickly  examined  the 
near-side  front  one.  The  V-shaped  cut  he  was  look- 
ing for  did  not  appear  to  be  there. 

Releasing  the  brake,  he  pushed  the  car  forward  a 
pace.  This  time  his  examination  yielded  the  result 
he  hoped  for.  Whoever  had  left  the  car  there  had, 
either  by  accident  or  design,  stopped  the  wheel  with 
the  cut  hidden  by  the  ground. 

He  nodded  to  the  others,  warning  them  with  his 
finger  to  his  lips  to  say  nothing  in  front  of  Jim. 

But  Jim  had  not  noticed  the  inspection  of  the  tire, 
being  busily  engaged  in  fitting  some  little  gadget  he 


90  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

had  brought  from  the  house  to  his  stripped  machine. 
So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  task  that  he,  although 
nearer  to  the  door  than  the  others,  did  not,  in  com- 
mon with  them,  notice  the  face  of  the  mechanic  Bailey 
peering  at  them  from  the  darkness  without. 

"I  think  the  next  move  is  to  have  a  little  chat  with 
Bailey,  don't  you,  sir?"  remarked  Hunt  to  the  Chief 
Constable. 

His  mind  was  going  back  to  that  afternoon  at  the 
inquest  when  the  mechanic  had  shown  so  much  un- 
easiness. At  the  time  he  had  put  it  down  as  being 
due  to  the  strangeness  of  the  surroundings,  but  he 
began  to  think  differently. 

As  he  spoke  he  did  not  know  that  Bailey  himself 
had  heard  the  words,  and  was  now  doubling  back  to 
his  house  to  regain,  if  possible,  a  little  of  his  com- 
posure before  the  ordeal  began. 

"Yes,"  the  Chief  Constable  replied.  "I  think  so 
too.  I  noticed  a  light  in  what  I  took  to  be  his  house 
as  we  were  coming  over,  so  I  think  we  shall  catch 
him  in." 

Jim  followed  them  to  the  door.  "You  can't  miss 
his  place,"  he  said,  "so  there's  no  need  for  me  to  come. 
It's  the  next  building  but  one." 

Bailey  himself  answered  Hunt's  knock,  and,  show- 
ing surprise  as  though  seeing  them  for  the  first  time 
that  night,  asked  them  in. 

The  little  room  was  cosy,  well  furnished,  and 
scrupulously  clean.  Hunt  put  his  hat  on  the  table 
and  curtly  refused  the  proffered  seat.  Bailey  did 
not  seem  as  nervous  now  as  he  did  at  the  inquest. 
Now  that  the  crisis  had  come,  fear  had  lent  him 
courage  enough  to  make  an  attempt  to  bluff  the  sit- 
uation. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  91 

To  Hunt's  mind  this  little  man  did  not  seem  to 
look  the  part  of  a  murderer.  But  he  knew  from  ex- 
perience that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  by  looks  alone. 
Many  a  little  man  had  paid  the  supreme  penalty. 

He  decided  to  come  straight  to  the  point.  "Now, 
Bailey,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  rang  with  authority, 
"I  want  the  true  account  of  your  movements  between 
three  o'clock  this  morning  and  the  time  when  Stur- 
man  called  you  to  the  'phone  with  the  news  of  the 
disaster." 

"The  true  account?"  echoed  Bailey  with  well- 
feigned  surprise.  "Why,  I  gave  it  at  the  inquest. 
After  I  put  out  the  landing-light  I  came  straight  in 
here  and  went  to  bed." 

"Look  here,  my  man,  I  tell  you  candidly  that  tale 
no  longer  holds  water.  You  were  seen  to  leave  here 
in  the  Bentley  just  after  the  'planes  had  left," 
bluffed  Hunt. 

Bailey  seemed  relieved.  A  ghost  of  a  smile  played 
across  his  lips.  "If  that's  all  you  have  against  me, 
sir,"  he  said,  "I  can  soon  prove  to  you  that  your 
information  is  incorrect." 

He  spoke  with  conviction  and,  they  thought,  spoke 
the  truth. 

"And  how,"  queried  Hunt  in  a  little  less  com- 
manding manner,  "can  you  prove  that  my  informa- 
tion is  incorrect?" 

"Easily.  The  Bentley  was  taken  away  yesterday 
afternoon  and  not  brought  back  until  this  morning !" 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Hunt,  astounded.  "Who  took  it 
away,  and  to  where  was  it  taken?" 

"Jim  Hucklesby  took  it  away  to  Hendon — to  the 
makers — to  get  a  new  camshaft.  You  see,  it's  a  spe- 
cial job,  and  standard  spares  won't  fit." 


VIII 
THE  ARREST 

"JiM  HUCKLESBY?"  echoed  Hunt.  "And  he  was 
away  with  it,  you  say,  all  night  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  at  least,  he  didn't  bring  it  back  here 
until  this  morning.  I  understand  from  what  he  told 
me,  though,  that  he  got  back  to  Lymington  just  be- 
fore midnight,  and  left  it  in  his  father's  garage.  His 
father,  of  course,  keeps  a  public  house  on  the  other 
side  of  the  town." 

"This  complicates  matters  a  lot,"  said  Hunt  to 
the  Chief  Constable.  "We  must  see  Hucklesby  again 
at  once.  I  feel  certain,  though,  that  he's  not  mixed 
up  in  this  business  himself,  but  it  may  have  been  pos- 
sible for  someone  to  have  borrowed  the  car  without 
his  knowledge." 

Picking  up  his  hat,  he  made  for  the  door.  "You're 
not  going  to  bed  for  a  few  minutes,  Bailey,  are  you  ?" 
he  asked.  "I  may  want  your  help  again." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  mechanic.  "I  shall  be  up 
for  an  hour  or  more  yet.  I  usually  keep  the  wireless 
on  until  late." 

Hunt,  followed  by  the  Superintendent  and  Major 
Williams,  hurried  from  the  house.  To  his  surprise, 
the  light  in  the  garage  had  been  turned  off.  Going 
up  to  the  door,  he  found  that  it  was  locked.  It  was 
obvious  that  Jim  had  gone. 

"Curse  it!"   said   Hunt,  half  to  himself.      "We 

92 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  93 

ought  to  have  asked  him  to  wait.  It'll  probably  take 
us  half  the  night  to  find  him  again." 

Just  then  the  strains  of  the  "Indian  Love  Call," 
from  Rose  Marie,  came  floating  across  the  park. 

"That's  probably  him  whistling,"  observed  the  Su- 
perintendent, "and,  if  so,  he's  a  good  half  way  across 
to  the  house." 

"Wait,"  shouted  Hunt.  "I  know  how  I  can  at- 
tract his  attention." 

He  sprinted  off  in  the  direction  of  the  landing- 
light.  The  others  followed  at  a  more  leisurely  pace. 

Reaching  the  light,  Hunt  switched  it  on.  It  was 
fitted  with  a  swivel,  and  almost  immediately  the  beam 
picked  Hucklesby  up.  A  few  signals  and  the  lad, 
guessing  he  was  wanted,  began  to  retrace  his  foot- 
steps. 

The  trio  went  part  of  the  way  to  meet  him,  leav- 
ing the  light  on  and  walking  down  its  ray. 

"I  didn't  realise  you  were  going  so  soon,"  began 
Hunt,  "and  I've  one  or  two  important  questions  to 
ask  you.  To  start  off  with,  I'll  tell  you  I'm  trying 
to  trace  the  movements  of  the  Bentley,  and  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  whether  you  think  anyone  could  have 
borrowed  it  after  you  put  it  away  in  your  father's 
garage  last  night?" 

"My  father's  garage  ?"  repeated  the  lad,  as  though 
unable  to  grasp  the  Yard  man's  meaning.  "Who 
told  you  I  put  it  in  my  father's  garage?" 

"Never  mind  that.  Do  you  think  anyone  could 
have  borrowed  it  without  your  knowledge?" 

But  Hucklesby  cut  him  short.  "You're  on  the 
wrong  track,  Inspector,  I'm  afraid.  I  haven't  got 


94  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

a  father  at  all — much  less  a  father  with  a  garage. 
Did  Bailey  tell  you  that  yarn?" 

"Haven't  got  a  father?"  cried  the  Chief  Constable, 
momentarily  forgetful  of  his  grammar.  "Bailey's 
called  your  bluff  all  right,  Inspector,  and  sent  us  all 
on  a  wild  goose  chase.  If  we  don't  get  back  instantly, 
he'll  get  away — if  he's  not  already  done  so." 

They  started  back  towards  the  mechanic's  house. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Hunt,  "he  bluffed  me  badly, 
and  by  now,  no  doubt,  he's  miles  away." 

Hardly  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  a  car  en- 
gine woke  to  life  with  a  roar.  From  the  darkness  of 
the  distant  sheds  shot  the  glare  of  powerful  head- 
lights. Across  the  park  towards  them  came  the  Bent- 
ley,  accelerating  rapidly.  A  moment  more  and  it 
had  passed  them,  a  good  hundred  yards  to  their  left, 
travelling  at  quite  seventy  miles  an  hour. 

"Well,  that's  that!"  said  Hunt  angrily.  "He's 
tricked  us  properly.  The  next  thing  to  do  is  to  go 
back  to  the  house  and  'phone,  but  by  the  time  the 
police  are  warned  he'll  be  miles  away.  And  to  think 
I  could  have  sworn  that  he  was  not  a  murderer !" 

"Why  don't  you  'phone  from  Bailey's  house?"  ad- 
vised Jim,  thoroughly  thrilled  by  his  experience. 
"It'll  save  you  quite  ten  minutes." 

"That's  a  good  idea,  Jim.     I  will.     Let's  sprint." 

The  Chief  Constable  and  Superintendent  did  not 
see  how  any  sprinting  on  their  part  would  help  mat- 
ters, so  followed  in  a  more  dignified  manner. 

In  a  short  time  Hunt  and  young  Jim  arrived  at 
the  mechanic's  house.  The  door,  they  found  to  their 
surprise,  was  locked.  However,  under  their  com- 
bined weight  it  soon  flew  open. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  95 

"The  'phone's  in  his  bedroom,"  announced  Huck- 
lesby,  rushing  up  the  stairs. 

Hunt  picked  up  the  instrument  hurriedly.  He 
could  tell  at  once  the  line  was  dead.  Glancing  down, 
he  saw  the  trouble.  The  line  was  cut  in  two  places. 

Jim  came  to  the  rescue  again.  "I'll  run  you  down 
to  the  house  on  my  motor-cycle.  It'll  bump  a  bit — 
there's  no  carrier — but  I've  a  little  air-cushion  on 
the  back  mudguard,  and  a  pair  of  pillion  rests." 

"Fine,"  answered  Hunt.  "I'll  endure  the  bump- 
ing." 

A  few  moments  later  they  were  again  in  the  re- 
pair shop.  The  machine  was,  luckily,  not  quite  ready 
for  the  races,  and  so  was  still  equipped  with  electric 
lights. 

A  short  push  and  the  well-tuned  engine  jumped 
to  life.  Hunt  clambered  into  position  behind  the 
under-chauffeur,  and  they  were  off. 

Their  speed  increased  rapidly,  sixty — seventy — 
nearly  eighty,  then  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of 
time  they  were  braking  for  the  house.  Almost  before 
they  came  to  a  standstill,  Hunt  was  off,  flying  up  the 
steps  to  the  front  door.  He  tried  it — it  opened — and 
in  he  rushed  without  knocking. 

The  'phone  was  in  the  hall.  Taking  off  the  re- 
ceiver, he  impatiently  awaited  the  exchange  to  an- 
swer. But  no  answer  came — the  line  seemed  dead. 
He  examined  the  instrument  quickly.  It  had  not 
been  tampered  with.  "Cut  outside,  no  doubt,"  he 
*  thought,  replacing  the  receiver  on  its  hook. 

Jim  was  still  waiting  outside.  One  of  the  garden- 
ers stood  with  him.  This  man  had  seen  the  hurried 


96  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

departure  of  the  mechanic,  and  had  noticed  he  took 
the  Bournemouth  road. 

"Where  can  we  'phone  from?"  asked  Hunt  as  he 
came  up.  "He's  cut  this  wire  too." 

"There's  a  'phone-box  in  Lymington,  sir,"  volun- 
teered Jim.  "Jump  on — we'll  soon  be  there." 

Hunt  helped  to  start  the  machine  again,  leaping 
on  to  his  seat  as  the  engine  fired. 

The  speed  at  which  Jim  covered  the  few  miles  to 
Lymington  convinced  Hunt  that  the  lad  was  a  mar- 
vellous driver.  Trusting  that  the  road  ahead  was 
clear,  he  had  approached,  and  sometimes  taken, 
many  of  the  really  nasty  corners  at  a  speed  of  well 
*over  a  mile  a  minute.  Luckily  no  traffic  was  on  the 
road  or  disaster  must  have  overtaken  them. 

Hunt  had  not  ridden  a  motor-cycle  for  years,  and 
as  the  powerful  machine  raced  along,  banking  and 
braking  for  corners,  and  getting  away  again  with 
flashing  acceleration,  he  realised  that  the  possession 
of  one  provided  the  lucky  owner  who  defied  the  law 
and  opened  wide  the  throttle  with  more  thrills  than 
any  racing  car  or  aeroplane. 

Again,  in  an  almost  unbelievable  space  of  time, 
they  reached  their  destination ;  pulling  up  at  a  tele- 
phone-box in  a  long,  controlled  skid. 

This  time  Hunt  had  better  luck,  getting  through 
immediately  to  the  police  station,  where  the  sergeant 
in  charge  took  down  the  C.I.D.  man's  brief  descrip- 
tion of  Bailey  and  the  car — which,  before  many  min- 
utes had  elapsed,  was  circulating  to  all  stations  in 
the  southern  part  of  the  country. 

Going  back  to  the  machine  again,  he  noticed  that 
their  hectic  arrival  had  attracted  the  attention  of  a 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER      ^  97 

patrolling  constable,  who  stood  questioning  Jim  at 
some  length. 

Hunt  produced  his  card  and  the  policeman,  who 
had  seemed  a  little  sceptical  of  Jim's  story,  became 
all  politeness. 

Yes,  a  Bentley  had  passed  some  five  minutes  be- 
fore— travelling  at  a  furious  pace.  Yes,  it  was  still 
on  the  Bournemouth  road. 

"Let's  try  to  catch  him,"  suggested  Jim,  now 
really  worked  up  by  the  thrill  of  the  hunt.  "We  can, 
you  know,  sir.  We'll  beat  him  on  the  corners." 

Hunt,  too,  felt  the  fever  of  the  chase.  "Let's  try," 
he  answered  rashly. 

The  constable  gave  them  a  push,  and  a  ride  that 
Detective-Inspector  Hunt  was  to  remember  all  his 
life  began. 

The  winding  road  to  Highcliff e  was  covered  at  an 
even  faster  rate  than  that  they  had  been  travelling 
at  previously.  They  thundered  through  the  little 
village,  bringing  people  wrathfully  to  their  windows 
from  their  beds. 

A  constable  sprang  from  out  of  a  doorway  at  the 
Bournemouth  end  of  the  narrow  street,  waving  his 
light  and  shouting.  But  for  all  the  good  he  did  he 
might  just  as  well  have  saved  himself  the  trouble, 
for  Jim  paid  him  no  attention,  but  tore  on  the  faster. 
His  speed,  as  he  braked  hard  for  the  turn  a  little  dis- 
tance beyond  the  village,  was  over  ninety  miles  per 
hour. 

Just  before  reaching  Totland  Corner,  the  scene  of 
the  murder  of  Constable  James,  a  rabbit,  dazed  by 
the  headlight,  dodged  across  in  front  of  them.  They 
hit  it  fair  and  square  with  the  front  wheel,  but, 


98  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

luckily  for  them,  its  body  was  flung  clear,  and  they 
were  not  thrown  off. 

Not  in  the  least  perturbed  by  this  narrow  escape, 
Jim  kept  the  throttle  open.  Soon  they  came  to  the 
junction  of  the  Lymington  and  London-Bourne- 
mouth roads.  A  policeman  was  standing  on  the  strip 
of  grass  on  the  corner  nearest  Bournemouth.  Pull- 
ing up  for  a  moment,  they  learned  that  the  Bentley 
had  turned,  not  three  minutes  before,  towards  Lon- 
don. The  policeman  had  tried  to  stop  it,  but  in  vain. 
He  had  received  a  'phone  call  from  Lymington  just 
as  the  car  approached. 

Off  again ;  this  time  on  the  long  straights  through 
the  Forest  towards  Lyndhurst.  They  would  not  gain 
much  here.  The  Bentley  would  do  an  easy  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  per  hour,  and,  even  if  they 
whacked  up  one  hundred  and  ten  miles  per  hour,  Jim 
doubted  whether  the  Inspector  would  be  able  to  stand 
the  terrific  bumping. 

But,  to  Hunt's  own  surprise,  he  was  able  to  keep 
his  seat;  and  consequently  the  maximum  speed  of 
the  motor-cycle  was  reached  on  many  of  the  straights. 

Lyndhurst  at  last.  Another  policeman  in  the 
street.  They  pulled  up  hurriedly.  Yes,  the  Bentley 
had  just  passed.  Not  so  much  ahead  either — less 
than  two  minutes  now.  He  had  not  taken  the  South- 
ampton road,  but  turned  left  for  Romsey. 

"Making  for  Town,"  yelled  Jim.  "Suppose  he 
thought  the  level  crossing  gates  on  the  Lyndhurst- 
Southampton  road  might  be  shut.  We'll  catch  him 
now — he'll  find  this  road  too  twisty." 

Jim's  optimism  proved  not  unfounded.  Three 
minutes  later  the  lights  of  the  Bentley  could  be  seen 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  99 

a  mile  or  so  ahead.  His  quarry  in  sight,  Jim  took 
more  risks  than  ever.  There  was  traffic  on  the  road 
now — heavy  lorries  bringing  produce  from  London 
to  the  coastal  towns.  They  flashed  by  them,  flat  out, 
gone  long  before  the  drivers'  curses  could  reach  their 
ears. 

Bailey  was  going  a  little  slower  now.  He  had  no 
idea  that  he  was  being  pursued.  Five  minutes  later 
the  motor-cycle  was  close  enough  for  its  light  to  re- 
flect on  the  Bentley's  windscreen.  It  was  then  the 
mechanic  realised  the  chase  was  on. 

With  a  frightened  oath  he  banged  down  the  accel- 
erator, and  the  big  car,  responding,  leaped  forward. 

He  had  left  it  too  late,  though ;  the  twisty  road  did 
not  permit  him  to  use  his  superior  speed  to  advan- 
tage, and,  foot  by  foot,  the  motor-cycle  drew  closer. 

The  man  was  desperate  now.  He  was  cornering 
almost  as  fast  as  Jim.  But  it  was  obvious  that  he 
could  not  keep  it  up.  Again  and  again  he  only  es- 
caped disaster  by  a  miracle.  Less  than  a  hundred 
yards  now  separated  pursuer  and  pursued.  They 
were  entering  the  narrow,  twisty  streets  of  Romsey. 
The  police  here  had  received  the  news,  and  had 
started  to  erect  a  flimsy  barrier.  The  Bentley,  how- 
ever, took  it  in  its  stride,  scattering  the  policemen 
in  all  directions.  But  the  incident  caused  Bailey  to 
miss  his  turn.  Now  he  was  on  a  loose-surfaced,  un- 
familiar road — with  the  roaring  motor-cycle  but  fifty 
yards  behind. 

Two  miles  farther  on  stood  the  little  village  of 
Houghton.  It  was  approached  from  Romsey  by  a 
straight  and  level  half-mile  stretch  of  road,  followed 
by  an  S  bend. 


100  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

The  Bentley  had  careered  madly  down  the  straight 
at  over  a  hundred  miles  per  hour;  while  the  motor- 
cycle, owing  to  the  bumpy  state  of  the  road,  had 
fallen  some  hundred  yards  behind. 

Elated  by  the  discovery  that  he  was  shaking  off  his 
pursuers,  Bailey  left  his  braking  for  the  bend  a 
fraction  of  a  second  too  late. 

In  a  hectic  skid  the  Bentley  struck  the  bank  at  the 
apex  of  the  first  bend  of  the  S,  wrenching  the  off- 
side rear  tire  clean  from  the  wheel.  By  a  super- 
human effort  Bailey  righted  the  car  for  a  moment, 
only  to  lose  control  again  almost  instantly  as  he 
skidded  madly  on  the  second  bend  of  the  S. 

This  time  luck  did  not  favour  the  mechanic.  Still 
moving  at  well  over  a  mile  a  minute,  the  Bentley 
charged  a  low  brick  wall.  The  wall  held,  but  the 
car  doubled  up  like  a  concertina. 

This  abrupt  termination  of  his  forward  motion 
caused  Bailey  to  be  flung  from  his  seat  and  cata- 
pulted high  into  the  air. 

Either  nature  or  an  earlier  generation  of  villagers 
had  luckily  decided  that  the  spot  he  was  heading  for 
was  ideal  for  a  really  deep  pond.  This  decision  alone 
undoubtedly  allowed  the  delivery  of  a  live  man  to 
justice. 

Skilfully  avoiding  the  wrecked  car,  which  almost 
blocked  the  narrow  road,  Jim  brought  his  machine 
to  a  standstill  only  a  few  paces  beyond  it. 

Hunt  hurriedly  scaled  the  wall,  over  which  he  had 
seen  the  wanted  man  disappearing,  and  saw  him, 
partly  stunned  and  half-drowned,  struggling  in  the 
water. 

With  Jim's  help  he  dragged  him  ashore.    After  a 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  101 

few  minutes  the  fugitive  had  recovered  sufficiently  to 
realise  what  had  happened  to  him.  He  did  not  seem 
surprised  to  find  the  handcuffs  on  his  wrists. 

"I  shall  detain  you  on  suspicion  of  being  concerned 
in  the  murder  of  Constable  James  some  time  between 
the  hours  of  three  and  six-thirty  this  morning  in  Red- 
stock  Lane,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  caution  you  that 
anything  you  say  will  be  taken  down  and  may  be  used 
in  evidence  against  you,"  warned  Hunt,  addressing 
the  terror-stricken  man. 

"I  don't  mind  how  much  you  caution  me,"  whim- 
pered the  mechanic.  "You  can't  prove  I  used  the 
car." 

Hunt  would  not  have  answered  the  prisoner,  for 
he  knew  he  spoke  the  truth,  but  Jim  overheard  the 
remark  and  supplied  the  evidence  the  Yard  man 
needed. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,  sir,"  he  started.  "I  saw  him 
myself.  At  four  o'clock  this  morning  I  went  across 
to  get  my  motor-bike  out  of  the  repair  shop.  You 
see,  as  I  told  you,  I'm  practising  hard  for  the  races, 
and  I  go  out  almost  every  morning  at  daybreak  and 
try  to  cover  a  hundred  miles  or  so  in  as  many  min- 
utes. 

"Just  as  I  got  to  the  shed  I  heard  a  car  coming 
up  the  lane  by  the  side  of  the  landing-ground.  It 
had  no  lights  on,  though  it  was  hardly  daylight.  I 
wondered  who  it  could  be  at  that  time  of  morning, 
so  I  hid  myself  round  the  corner  of  the  shed  to  find 
out  what  was  going  on.  The  car — it  was  the  Bent- 
ley — came  up  to  the  front  of  the  repair  shop  and 
stopped.  I  saw  Bailey  get  out  and  swing  back  the 


102  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

double  doors.  Then,  getting  in  the  car  again,  he  ran 
it  into  the  shop. 

"I  didn't  want  him  to  think  I  had  been  spying  on 
him,  so  I  waited  some  little  time  before  going  in  and 
getting  my  bike.  I  felt  the  radiator  of  the  Bentley 
as  I  passed  and  found  it  was  quite  hot.  I  could  tell 
the  car  had  been  driven  some  distance,  and,  I 
thought,  driven  hard.  I  noticed  later  in  the  day 
that  the  car  had  been  turned  round  and  placed  over 
the  pit." 

"Thank  you,  Jim,"  Hunt  said  with  a  smile.  "I 
must  take  that  statement  down  in  writing  and  get 
you  to  sign  it.  I  think  that  completes  the  case." 
Then,  sternly :  "Now,  Bailey,  unless  you  can  explain 
your  movements  with  the  car  to  my  satisfaction,  I 
have  no  option  but  to  charge  you  with  the  murder." 

"I  can  explain,  Inspector,  but  I  won't.  You  must 
do  your  worst,"  he  added  defiantly. 


IX 
ANOTHER  BODY 

THE  noise  of  the  smash  had  aroused  the  village  con- 
stable, whose  house  was  not  far  from  the  scene  of  the 
accident.  He  had  hurriedly  dressed  and  proceeded 
in  the  direction  from  which  the  sound  had  come,  ar- 
riving just  as  Hunt  was  deciding  to  knock  someone 
up  and  borrow  his  car  to  convey  his  prisoner  to 
the  police  station. 

It  turned  out,  however,  that  the  constable  had  re- 
cently come  into  a  little  money  and  possessed  an  old 
Morris  Cowley,  which  was  in  good  going  order  de- 
spite its  rather  battered  appearance.  He  was  also 
on  the  'phone. 

The  party  set  off  to  his  house  with  the  mechanic, 
who  seemed  now  to  be  resigned  to  his  fate. 

Once  at  the  house,  Hunt  'phoned  the  news  of  the 
dramatic  arrest  through  to  Lymington,  asking  the 
sergeant,  who  answered  the  'phone  again;  to  send  a 
constable  to  tell  the  Chief  Constable  and  Superin- 
tendent Walker  that  they  were  taking  their  man  to 
Bournemouth  by  road. 

Jim  arranged  to  leave  his  motor-cycle  at  the  po- 
liceman's house  and  call  for  it  when  he  returned  the 
car  on  the  morrow. 

The  old  Morris  had  quite  a  turn  of  speed,  so  the 
return  journey  did  not  take  them  much  above  twice 
the  time  the  outward  trip  had  done. 

103 


104  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

The  Chief  Constable  and  Walker  were  already  at 
the  police  station,  and  both  seemed  extremely  thank- 
ful that  such  an  early  arrest  in  what  seemed  at  first 
so  difficult  a  case  had  been  effected. 

The  prisoner  was  immediately  charged;  he  made 
no  reply,  and  was  escorted  to  the  cells. 

After  arranging  to  meet  the  Chief  Constable  in 
the  morning,  Hunt  set  off  to  Southbourne  with  Jim, 
who  had  offered  to  drop  him  at  his  sister's  house  be- 
fore continuing  his  journey  back  to  Lymington. 

And  so,  after  a  hearty  supper,  the  Inspector, 
fagged  in  body  and  mind,  went  to  bed. 

He  had  arranged  to  have  breakfast  at  7.30  the 
next  morning,  and,  although  he  had  not  had  very 
long  in  bed,  he  was  down  before  the  clock  struck  the 
half -hour,  looking  and  feeling  as  fresh  as  ever. 

He  was  not  diie  at  the  station  to  help  the  Chief 
Constable  prepare  the  case  against  Bailey  until  ten 
o'clock,  so  he  decided  to  run  out  to  Totland  Corner 
in  his  car  to  examine  a  little  more  closely  the  meadow 
in  which  the  detective  had  found  the  mysterious  foot- 
prints. 

He  was  still  not  satisfied  that  these  prints  were  un- 
connected with  the  crime — although  just  what  part 
they  played  he  was  quite  unable  to  decide. 

Neither  had  he  yet  dismissed  the  still  missing 
Evans  from  the  case.  It  seemed  highly  probable  to 
him  that  Bailey  had  an  accomplice ;  the  words,  "I  can 
explain,  but  I  won't,"  rather  suggested  that  he  was 
shielding  someone.  Even  now,  though  he  had  him- 
self arrested  th%  man,  he  felt  that  Bailey  had  not 
fired  the  fatal  shots,  although  he  undoubtedly  had 
been  there  and  knew  exactly  what  had  happened. **" 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  105 

The  fact  that  the  mechanic  was  deeply  involved 
rendered  his  account  of  the  start  to  the  fatal  flight 
as  highly  improbable,  and  evidence  to  be  regarded 
with  suspicion.  Until  it  was  possible  to  make  him 
give  the  true  account,  Hunt  felt  that  the  key  to  the 
mystery  would  be  unobtainable.  That  Bailey  would 
turn  King's  evidence  eventually  he  had  no  doubts. 
His  type  invariably  did;  but  it  was  possible  that  he 
would  withhold  his  information  until  the  actual  mur- 
derer got  clear  away. 

His  little  car  was  very  powerful,  capable  of  a 
good  seventy-five  miles  an  hour,  so  he  was  able  to 
make  short  work  of  the  trip.  Sad  to  relate,  he  was 
seldom  able  to  keep  to  the  speed  the  law  demands 
must  not  be  exceeded. 

Reaching  the  Corner,  he  turned  his  car  into  Red- 
stock  Lane,  parking  it  near  the  scene  of  the  crime. 

He  thought  it  very  probable  that  the  murder  of 
Sir  Charles  had  taken  place  here  too.  In  spite  of  the 
dangers  of  a  night  landing,  he  felt  certain  one  had 
been  carried  out.  He  felt  equally  sure  that  both 
murders  had  been  committed  by  the  same  person 
using  the  same  weapon. 

Leaving  the  car,  he  climbed  the  hedge  into  Angels. 
It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  little  wind,  with  a  clear 
blue  sky  that  gave  promise  of  hours  of  warm  sun- 
shine. 

Deep  in  thought,  he  walked  down  by  the  low 
hedge  until  he  came  to  the  gate  by  the  main  road. 

Leaning  with  his  back  up  against  it,  he  looked  up 
the  meadow  towards  the  marshy  jDatch.  The  cows 
had  been  in  the  meadow  again  overnight,  he  noticed. 
"ftatiier  a  pity,"  he  thought ;  "there's  little  hope  now 


106  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

of  finding  marks  where  the  'planes  may  have  landed, 
even  if  they  had  been  there  previously." 

The  meadow,  he  reflected,  was  ideal  for  landing 
purposes.  If  only  he  could  see  a  way  to  get  over  the 
snag  of  a  landing  by  night  on  strange  ground,  and 
without  landing-lights,  he  felt  convinced  he  would 
be  able  to  solve  the  crimes  in  their  entireties. 

Then  suddenly,  as  he  looked  up  the  field,  he  saw 
how  it  could  have  been  done.  The  mistake  he  had 
made  had  been  in  thinking  Bailey  had  been  at  Lmy- 
ington  when  the  'planes  took  off. 

Supposing  Bailey  hacfr  switched  on  the  landing- 
light  at  a  quarter  to  three — or  even  earlier;  then, 
instead  of  waiting  to  see  the  'planes  start,  had  hur- 
ried here  with  the  Bentley. 

With  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so's  start,  he  would 
have  been  at  Totland  Corner  well  before  the  'planes. 

There  would  have  been  little  fear  of  traffic  at  that 
time  of  the  morning,  and  he  could  safely  have  ma- 
noeuvred his  car  across  the  road  until  his  lights,  which 
were  extremely  powerful,  were  shining  through  the 
gateway  and  lighting  up  the  meadow  as  effectively 
as  any  landing-light  of  the  type  Sir  Charles  used. 

The  Inspector  decided  to  attempt  to  reconstruct 
the  crime.  He  fetched  his  car  from  the  lane,  and, 
after  propping  the  gate  wide  open,  he  drove  it  into 
a  position  similar  to  that  in  which  he  believed  Bailey 
had  placed  the  Bentley. 

He  carried  a  small  pocket  compass  with  him  when- 
ever he  did  any  motoring.  Producing  this  from  the 
pocket  of  his  car  and  placing  it  on  the  running- 
board — the  most  convenient  level  surface — he  dis- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  107 

covered  that  the  nose  of  the  car  was  pointing  in  a 
north-easterly  direction. 

This  was  what  he  had  expected  to  find.  His 
knowledge  of  flying,  though  little  less  scanty  than 
that  of  the  average  man  in  the  street,  was  sufficient  to 
tell  him  a  'plane  normally  landed  against  the  wind. 

The  wind  that  fateful  night,  or,  to  be  exact,  that 
early  morning,  was,  he  remembered,  blowing  from 
a  south-westerly  direction. 

As  the  'planes  would  also,  almost  certainly,  land 
against  the  light,  to  avoid  shadows,  he  felt  that  his 
theory  that  this  gateway  was  the  one  used  was  con- 
siderably strengthened  by  his  discovery  with  the  com- 
pass. 

The  tracks  of  the  car  in  the  gateway  would  have 
been  wiped  out  completely  by  the  cows  when  they 
passed  through  in  the  morning.  That  fact  alone 
convinced  Hunt  that  the  crime  had  been  planned 
with  the  utmost  caution. 

One  thing  was  clear  now  that  had  been  a  mystery 
before — the  unidentified  tracks  that  started  so  sud- 
denly in  the  middle  of  the  meadow  were -made  by  a 
man  getting  out  of  an  aeroplane. 

He  decided  to  walk  over  to  the  spot  where  these 
began  to  see  if  he  could  gain  further  knowledge 
there.  But,  after  having  progressed  so  far  with  the 
reconstruction,  Hunt  found  himself  nonplussed  al- 
most at  once  by  a  simple  fact  that  he  had  overlooked. 

There  was  only  one  set  of  tracks. 

Try  as  he  could,  the  Inspector  was  unable  to  fit 
this  single  set  into  his  theories.  Even  assuming  that 
Evans  had,  by  some  pretext,  arranged  for  them  to 
land  in  this  meadow,  and,  after  landing,  had  climbed 


108  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

out  of  his  'plane,  walked  over  to  Sir  Charles,  and 
fired  the  fatal  shot,  there  was  the  insurmountable 
snag  of  there  being  no  return  footprints  to  the  start- 
ing-point. 

Obviously  he  had  gone  back,  as  the  monoplane 
had  passed  over  the  Head  later. 

But,  in  spite  of  this  disappointment,  Hunt  felt 
sure  he  was  on  the  right  track.  He  knew  it  would 
be  possible  to  send  up  the  "Moth"  without  a  pilot — 
with  the  controls  in  a  central  position  and  the  engine 
running  on  full  throttle  it  would  float  gently  sky- 
wards as  soon  as  it  reached  a  high  enough  speed  to 
leave  the  ground. 

He  decided  to  go  back  to  Bournemouth  to  see  if 
the  Chief  Constable  could  suggest  any  way  out  of 
the  difficulty.  He  had  hardly  turned,  though,  to 
begin  to  retrace  his  footsteps  to  the  car  when  some- 
one hailed  him  from  behind. 

Turning  again,  he  saw  Mr.  Abbot,  of  the  Home 
Farm,  waving  and  shouting  for  him  to  stop.  Won- 
dering what  the  excitement  could  be  about,  he  went 
part  of  the  way  to  meet  him. 

Although  the  farmer  was  clearly  excited,  he  did 
not  impart  his  news  until  he  had  shaken  hands  with 
the  Inspector  and  bid  him  a  hearty  good  morning. 
Then  he  came  quickly  to  the  point. 

"I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Inspector,"  he  said, 
"but  I've  just  found  another  dead  man  on  my  farm." 

"Another  dead  man !"  echoed  Hunt.  "This  place 
will  soon  have  quite  an  unsavoury  reputation,  I'm 
afraid." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  farmer.  "It  certainly  will — 
but  I  don't  think  this  will  be  a  case  for  Scotland 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  109 

Yard.  It's  a  man  of  the  tramp  class,  and  I  should 
say  a  case  of  natural  death — but  whilst  you're  here, 
Inspector,  I  thought  you'd  like  to  take  a  look  round." 

He  led  the  way  up  into  the  far  corner  of  the 
meadow  to  the  gate  where  Hunt  had  expected,  during 
his  search  on  the  day  before,  to  find  traces  of  the 
unidentified  footprints. 

After  climbing  the  gate,  Abbot  led  him  through 
some  gorse  and  furze-bushes  to  a  little  tin  shelter, 
where  the  cattle  were  wont  to  lie  in  bad  weather. 
The  Inspector  had  noticed  the  building  the  morning 
before,  but  had  not  troubled  to  examine  it. 

In  the  far  corner  of  this  shed  Hunt  saw  the  body 
of  a  rough-looking,  unshaven  man.  He  bent  down 
and  touched  the  still  form ;  it  was  cold  and  stiff .  No 
doubt  death  had  taken  place  hours,  or  even  days, 
previously. 

The  man's  head  was  on  a  bundle,  of  the  type 
tramps  carry,  and  the  body  was  fully  clothed,  ex- 
cept for  the  badly  cracked  boots,  which  stood  side 
by  side  near  at  hand. 

As  Hunt  gazed  at  the  face,  set  quite  calm  and 
peaceful  in  death,  he  had  a  feeling  that  he  had  seen 
the  man  before.  He  tried  hard  to  place  him  for  some 
minutes — but  in  vain. 

Abbot  noticed  the  Inspector  was  closely  scrutin- 
ising the  dead  body,  and  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion at  his  disposal.  "He's  been  about  the  place 
some  days,  Inspector,  I  believe,"  he  commenced, 
"though  he's  a  total  stranger  to  me. 

"My  wife  told  me  she  had  a  tramp  call  a  day  or 
two  ago  to  beg  a  stamp  and  an  envelope.  Her  de- 
scription of  him  fits  this  man  exactly.  She  was  very 

RETURN  W.TH.N  TWO  WEEKS 

AWT. 


110  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

puzzled  to  get  such  an  unusual  request  as  this,  but, 
as  he  seemed  a  well-spoken  man  who  had  undoubt- 
edly seen  better  days,  she  gave  him  what  he  asked. 
She  said  he  had  a  hunted,  furtive  look  about  him, 
and  she  wondered  if  he  was  in  trouble  with  the 
police." 

As  the  farmer  concluded,  the  scene  of  his  previous 
meeting  with  the  dead  man  came  vividly  into  Hunt's 
mind. 

He  remembered  now  that  he  was  at  the  Old  Bailey, 
waiting  to  give  evidence  in  a  forgery  case.  He  had 
arrived  a  little  early,  and  the  case  previous  to  the 
one  he  was  connected  with  had  not  quite  finished. 

The  prisoner,  Alfred  Newton,  stood  charged  with 
the  crimes  of  blackmail  and  robbery  with  violence. 

The  jury  filed  back  to  their  box.  The  foreman 
returned  a  verdict  of  guilty.  In  vain  the  accused 
protested  his  innocence.  The  judge,  addressing  him 
in  scathing  tones,  passed  sentence  of  seven  years' 
penal  servitude. 

The  case  had  interested  Hunt  at  the  time,  and  he 
remembered  reading  it  up  when  he  got  home  that 
evening.  He  had  no  doubts  whatever — the  accused 
had  been  justly  convicted. 

He  remembered,  too,  the  escape  of  Alfred  New- 
ton from  Parkhurst  Prison,  Isle  of  Wight — how  he 
had  eluded  his  warders  in  a  fog  and  got  clear  off  the 
island.  It  had  been  a  nine  days'  wonder,  and,  truth 
to  tell,  the  authorities  had  quite  given  him  up  for 
lost.  .  .  .  And  all  this  time  he  had  apparently  been 
wandering  about  quite  openly.  Just  another  in- 
stance of  a  wanted  man  mixing  unconcernedly  with 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  111 

his  fellow-creatures  without  unduly  raising  their  sus- 
picions. 

"Your  wife  was  right  then,  Mr.  Abbot.  He  was 
in  trouble  with  the  police.  I  remember  now.  This 
is  Alfred  Newton,  the  convict  who  escaped  from 
Parkhurst  Prison  last  March,"  announced  Hunt  at 
length. 

"I  suppose  we'd  better  'phone  up  the  police  station 
for  the  doctor — and  I  expect  we  shall  have  to  attend 
still  another  inquest." 

As  they  turned  to  leave  the  hut,  Hunt  remembered 
the  mysterious  footprint.  Crossing  again  to  the 
body,  he  picked  up  the  well-worn  boots. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were  not  the  pair 
he  was  longing  to  set  eyes  on.  No — these  were  quite 
two  sizes  too  small ! 


SIR  HENRY  DISAPPEARS 

THE  Chief  Constable  had  most  conscientiously  been 
through  all  the  papers  dealing  with  the  murders, 
and  had  decided  to  ask  the  magistrates  for  a  week's 
remand  when  Bailey  appeared  before  them. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  not  the  slightest  hopes 
of  getting  any  jury  to  convict  on  the  little  evidence 
before  him,  and  he  did  not  know  exactly  where  to 
look  for  any  more. 

But,  being  a  born  optimist,  he  counted  on  Hunt 
being  able  to  procure  it  for  him.  Consequently,  he 
was  considerably  relieved  when  at  last  the  very  much 
overdue  Inspector  put  in  an  appearance. 

Hunt  apologised  for  his  lateness,  and  explained 
the  reason  for  it. 

Major  Williams  was  very  annoyed  to  think  the 
escaped  prisoner  had  been  on  his  territory  and  had 
evaded  arrest  for  so  long.  However,  as  the  mischief 
was  done,  and  Hunt  had  already  acquainted  Super- 
intendent Walker  with  the  facts,  and  Sergeant  Kirk 
had  the  case  in  hand,  he  rapidly  dismissed  the  mat- 
ter from  his  mind  as  of  no  great  importance,  turning 
the  conversation  again  to  the  murders  of  Constable 
James  and  Sir  Charles. 

He  confessed  to  Hunt  quite  frankly  that  he  was 
in  a  quandary,  and  explained  to  the  Yard  man  that 

he  looked  to  him  to  show  him  the  way  out. 

112 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  113 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  answered  the  Inspector,  "but  I 
myself  am  also  in  a  hole.  In  fact,  I  was  hoping  that 
you  would  be  able  to  help  me,  instead  of  me  helping 
you." 

He  then  explained  his  theory  of  how  the  murders 
were  committed  by  Evans,  who,  he  felt  certain,  in- 
duced Sir  Charles  to  land  in  Angels,  pointing  out 
how,  although  his  compass  supported  his  ideas,  the 
clue  of  the  single  track  of  prints  was  inexplicable. 

The  Chief  Constable  listened  without  comment 
until  Hunt  had  finished.  Then,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' consideration,  he  agreed  that  Hunt's  theory 
seemed  the  only  possible  one  that  would  allow  both 
murders  to  be  committed  by  the  same  person  using 
the  same  weapon.  How  Evans  got  to  the  lane  and 
back  to  his  'plane,  leaving  only  a  single  track  of 
footprints,  was  a  puzzle  too  involved  for  him  to  solve. 

"I  think,"  began  Hunt,  as  he  selected  a  fresh  ciga- 
rette from  his  case,  "if  we  forget  Bailey's  account 
of  the  start  of  the  flight,  and  try  to  reconstruct  the 
case  from  the  beginning,  we  might,  between  us,  man- 
age to  discover  where  we  are  making  our  mistake." 

"Quite,"  agreed  the  Chief  Constable,  "we  might. 
Let's  try  again.  I  take  it  that  we  are  going  to  accept 
the  butler's  statement  that  Mrs.  Evans  was  in  the 
'plane  when  it  left  the  hangar  to  be  true?  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  we  took  a  statement  from  Mr.  Day  last 
evening,  after  you  had  left  on  your  little  joy-ride, 
and  he  corroborates  the  butler's  story." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt,  "I  think  we  can  accept  that. 
Let's  start  from  there.  Now,  first,  we  must  discover 
what  happened  to  Mrs.  Evans.  Is  she  lying  dead  in 
Christchurch  Harbour — or  has  she  joined  her  miss- 


114  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

ing  husband?  Secondly,  we  must  discover  Mr. 
Evans'  whereabouts — and  the  hiding-place  of  his 
'plane.  And,  lastly,  what  part  has  Bailey  played 
in  these  tragedies?" 

The  Chief  Constable  nodded  in  assent.  "Yes — 
that  puts  the  matter  in  a  nutshell.  When  we  know 
the  answers  to  those  questions  our  case  will  be  com- 
plete— but,  before  we  go  any  further,  I  can  partly 
answer  the  last  one  already.  At  least,  I  can  tell  you 
one  vitally  important  part  that  Bailey  did  not  play 
— and  when  we  find  who  did  play  it  we  shall  be  a 
long  way  on  towards  our  solution." 

"And  what  is  that  part,  sir?  I  have  certainly 
missed  it,"  put  in  Hunt  eagerly. 

"Just  that  he  could  not  have  turned  off  the  land- 
ing-light, and  yet  (according  to  Hucklesby)  when 
he  arrived  back  at  the  repair  shop  with  the  Bentley 
the  light  was  out." 

"That's  an  important  point  to  be  sure,"  said  Hunt 
thoughtfuUy.  "Fancy  me  overlooking  such  an  ob- 
vious fact."  Then — "Don't  you  think  everything 
points  to  another  person  being  in  the  plot — an  ac- 
complice whose  job  it  was  to  turn  off  the  light  at  the 
proper  time?" 

"I  do,"  agreed  the  Chief  Constable,  "and  to  my 
mind,  after  taking  every  known  fact  of  this  amaz- 
ing tangle  into  consideration,  everything  points  to 
that  accomplice  being  Evans'  good  lady.  I'm  in- 
clined to  believe  the  whole  of  Bailey's  evidence  was 
perjured  evidence — and  I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Evans  trav- 
elled by  air  at  all.  But  we'll  have  to  thresh  this 
matter  out  later.  It's  time  we  were  in  court." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  115 

The  proceedings  that  morning  were  very  brief, 
only  Hunt's  evidence  of  arrest  being  given.  The 
Chief  Constable  asked  for  a  week's  remand,  which 
was  immediately  granted. 

The  prisoner  was  not  represented.  He  caused 
some  surprise  by  requesting  that  all  editions  of  the 
local  papers  be  supplied  to  him. 

He  went  on  to  explain  that  they  were  very  neces- 
sary to  him  to  help  him  prepare  his  defence.  He 
had  a  complete  answer  to  the  charge,  but  until  a 
certain  piece  of  news  reached  him  his  lips  were  sealed. 

After  a  whispered  conversation  with  the  Chief 
Constable  the  magistrates  granted  this  extraordinary 
request,  and  the  mechanic  was  immediately  taken 
back  to  the  cells. 

Neither  Hunt  nor  Major  Williams  was  very  sur- 
prised to  hear  the  accused's  application  for  the 
papers;  it  certainly  strengthened  their  theory  that 
Bailey  had  an  accomplice. 

"No  doubt  he  expects  to  get  a  message  from  some- 
one— probably  Evans,"  observed  Hunt.  "We  must 
study  all  the  advertisements  carefully,  no  matter  how 
innocent  they  may  appear  at  first  sight." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  Chief  Constable.  "I  intend  to 
give  them  my  closest  attention,  but  I  don't  think  it 
will  help  us  a  lot,  as  Bailey's  bound  to  speak  the  mo- 
ment he  receives  his  message." 

They  were  back  in  the  Chief  Constable's  little  office 
by  this  time,  and  were  preparing  to  settle  for  a 
lengthy  conference.  Hardly  had  they  taken  their 
places,  when  the  telephone  bell  rang. 

The  Chief  Constable  leaned  forward  and  picked 
up  the  receiver.  The  call  was  from  Forest  Court,  it 


116  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

transpired — Sir  Charles'  butler  had  news  for  them. 

Sir  Henry  Sandleson,  the  new  baronet,  had  ar- 
rived the  previous  evening,  not  long  after  the  two 
police  officials  had  departed. 

Sturman  had,  he  said,  accepted  him  as  the  lawful 
occupier  of  the  house,  and  had  escorted  him  to  Sir 
Charles'  own  room,  where  he  had  left  him  after  re- 
ceiving orders  not  to  disturb  him  before  10  A.M. 

To  Sturman's  surprise,  however,  Sir  Henry  was 
not  in  his  room  when  he  entered  at  10.30  A.M.  after 
repeatedly  rapping  on  the  door. 

The  bed  did  not  appear  to  have  been  slept  in,  and 
no  trace  of  the  baronet  was  to  be  found.  The  front 
door,  moreover,  had  been  found  unlocked. 

This  new  development  considerably  upset  the 
morning's  plans,  making  an  immediate  journey  to 
Lymington  imperative.  Hunt  had  to  make  a  'phone 
call  to  the  Yard,  so,  whilst  he  was  getting  through, 
the  Superintendent,  who  had  just  come  into  the  office, 
and  heard  the  news,  sent  for  his  car. 

As  soon  as  Hunt  had  finished  his  conversation  they 
started  their  journey,  and  within  a  short  while  they 
were  again  travelling  the  now  familiar  road  towards 
Lymington. 

In  spite  of  a  thorough  search  of  the  house  and 
grounds,  Sturman  and  his  helpers  had  been  unable 
to  find  any  trace  of  the  missing  Sir  Henry  Sandle- 
son by  the  time  the  trio  put  in  an  appearance. 

The  butler  stood  waiting  by  the  porch,  his  usually 
dignified  face  bearing  a  baffled,  vacant  expression. 
It  was  clear  that  the  strain  of  the  past  few  hours 
was  beginning  to  tell  on  him. 

He  led  the  way  through  the  spacious  hall,  down 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  117 

the  broad  passage,  and  into  Sir  Charles'  little  study. 
After  motioning  them  to  seat  themselves,  he  handed 
round  a  box  of  the  dead  airman's  cigarettes,  then 
prepared  himself  for  the  inevitable  questioning. 

As  usual,  Hunt  took  the  inquiry  in  hand.  It  was 
about  2  A.M.,  he  learned,  when  the  new  baronet  rang 
the  front  door  bell.  He  arrived  on  foot,  but  ex- 
plained that  he  had  paid  off  his  taxi  outside,  pre- 
ferring to  walk  up  the  short  drive  from  the  main 
road. 

He  had  already  dined  and  supped,  he  said,  and, 
after  a  short  chat  during  which  he  deplored  the 
tragic  event  that  had  brought  him  there  from  his 
business  in  the  North,  he  moved  off  to  bed. 

Of  course,  Sturman  continued,  he  was  not  sur- 
prised to  get  orders  not  to  call  Sir  Henry  too  early, 
as  he  had  travelled  far  and  certainly  looked  all  in. 

He  was  able  to  give  a  full  description  of  the  miss- 
ing man.  Hunt  jotted  down  the  particulars.  Age 
about  thirty-five;  dark  curly  hair;  swarthy  com- 
plexion; well  built,  and  about  six  feet  in  height. 
Wearing  horn-rimmed  spectacles  and  dressed  in 
Harris  tweeds.  Carrying  a  light,  fawn  overcoat. 
"He  bears  a  slight  resemblance  to  my  late  master," 
the  butler  added,  "but,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say 
so,  lacks  his  air  of  breeding." 

This  was  all  the  information  Sturman  was  able  to 
give. 

Hunt  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  his  hand  clasped 
to  his  forehead,  covering  his  eyes. 

The  Superintendent  was  framing  his  lips  for  a 
question  when  the  Chief  Constable  forestalled  him, 
taking  the  words  from  out  of  his  mouth. 


118  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Have  you  made  certain,"  he  asked,  "that  nothing 
is  missing  from  the  bedroom — or  any  other  room,  for 
that  matter  ?  No  papers — or  any  articles  of  value  ?" 

"Why,  no!"  exclaimed  Sturman.  "I  haven't 
looked.  But  why  should  I?"  he  inquired.  "A  gen- 
tleman doesn't  usually  rob  his  own  property." 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  the  Chief  Constable,  "of  course 
not — I  didn't  mean  that.  I  was  wondering — are  you 
positive — would  you  be  prepared  to  swear — that  the 
man  you  admitted  was  Sir  Henry  Sandleson?" 

"Why,  yes,  sir.  I  would  have  no  hesitation  in 
swearing  to  it.  I've  met  him,  and  spoken  to  him, 
before,  and  I  never  forget  a  face.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  whatever  about  it.  The  gentleman  I  admitted 
was  Sir  Henry  Sandleson." 

"Well,  in  that  case  all  we  can  do  is  to  trace  the 
taxi-driver  who  brought  him  here.  He's  probably 
either  a  Bournemouth  or  Southampton  man,"  put 
in  Walker. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  Chief  Constable.  "That's  the 
next  step,  I  think.  What  do  you  say,  Inspector?" 

Hunt  drew  his  hand  slowly  down  his  face,  raised 
his  head  and  looked  up.  "Yes,  that  seems  all  we  can 
do  as  regards  tracing  the  movements  of  Sir  Henry ; 
but  before  we  do  anything  else  I  should  like  to  take 
a  thorough  look  over  this  house.  Would  you  care 
to  conduct  us?"  he  asked  the  butler. 

"The  servants'  quarters  included?"  the  latter 
asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "With  your  permission,  I'd 
like  to  visit  the  whole  house.  We  may  just  as  well 
do  the  job  properly  whilst  we  are  about  it.  And, 
Sturman,"  he  added,  "please  keep  your  weather-eye 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  119 

open — you'll  probably  find  something  has  been  dis- 
turbed." 

The  butler  moved  over  to  the  wall  and  pressed  a 
bell-button.  "Lay  lunch  for  three — in  here,"  he  or- 
dered the  neatly  dressed  maid  who  answered  his  sum- 
mons. 

"A  fine  idea,"  commented  the  Superintendent. 
"You're  a  marvel,  Sturman,"  he  added. 

"Where  do  we  begin,  Inspector?"  asked  the  Chief 
Constable. 

Hunt  considered  for  a  moment.  "Let's  start  from 
the  top  and  work  downwards,"  he  replied  at  length. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,  follow 
me,"  invited  Sturman.  Suiting  his  actions  to  his 
words,  he  led  the  way  back  along  the  passage, 
through  the  hall,  then  up  the  massive  main  stair- 
case. 

Passing  the  first  floor  landing,  they  eventually 
reached  the  attics.  These,  Sturman  explained,  had 
been  turned  into  workshops  by  Sir  Charles,  and 
up  here  the  dead  airman  had  spent  a  considerable 
amount  of  his  time. 

Opening  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  (in- 
cidentally this  was  always  kept  locked),  their  guide 
led  them  along  a  broad,  well-lit  landing  that  ap- 
peared to  run  the  whole  length  of  the  house. 

"There  are  half  a  dozen  rooms  up  here,"  explained 
the  butler.  "The  two  at  the  far  end  are  used  only 
for  storing  odds  and  ends,  but  the  other  four  are  all 
in  daily  use." 

Proceeding  down  the  passage,  Sturman  threw  open 
the  bottom  door.  The  room  contained  a  jumble  of 
old  trunks;  old  aeroplane  fittings;  and  any  amount 


120  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

of  old  papers,  the  whole  being  covered  with  a  thick 
layer  of  dust,  while  cobwebs  hung  from  the  ceiling, 
swaying  gently  in  the  draught. 

Hunt  and  his  colleagues  took  a  quick  look  round. 
To  go  through  the  accumulated  rubbish  systemati- 
cally would  take  them  hours,  perhaps  even  days.  It 
seemed  no  useful  purpose  would  be  served  by  such 
a  course,  so  Hunt  presently  motioned  the  others  on. 

The  next  room  presented  a  more  orderly  appear- 
ance, being  the  storage-place  of  engine  and  other 
spare  motor  and  aircraft  fittings.  A  brief  survey 
sufficed,  and  the  three  officials  soon  passed  on  from 
this  to  the  next  room,  the  first  of  those  in  daily  use 
by  Sir  Charles  up  to  the  time  of  his  demise. 

This,  Sturman  explained,  was  the  room  in  which 
Sir  Charles  had  done  most  of  his  designing.  It  was 
fitted  up  with  every  convenience.  A  telephone  stood 
by  the  rather  disorderly  mass  of  papers  on  the  desk 
in  the  corner  against  the  nearer  wall,  and  an  ash-tray 
by  it  showed  its  user  to  be  a  heavy  smoker.  An  ex- 
pensive electric  fire  was  in  position  by  the  chimney, 
and  in  front  of  it,  on  the  floor,  there  lay  a  splendid 
tiger-skin  (bagged  on  the  same  expedition  as  the  one 
in  Evans'  study  at  Moorlands,  Hunt  afterwards 
learned) . 

A  smaller  desk  held  a  typewriter,  a  high-class  dic- 
taphone and  several  reference-books. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  large,  strongly 
built,  level  oak  bench,  scrupulously  clean.  On  this 
were  several  set-squares;  rulers;  callipers;  drawing- 
boards  and  a  varied  collection  of  blue-prints.  A 
glass-fronted  cabinet  containing  the  more  delicate 
instruments  lay  face  upwards  near  at  hand. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  121 

Hunt  cast  a  casual  glance  at  the  plans,  wondering 
as  he  did  so  what  would  happen  to  the  half-com- 
pleted designs  lying  on  the  bench  before  his  eyes. 

Did  they  contain  the  germ  of  some  new  idea  which 
would  be  snapped  up  eagerly  by  other  designers 
when  and  if  they  came  into  the  market,  or  were  they 
too  insufficiently  advanced  for  any  but  the  dead  in- 
ventor to  complete? 

This  room  connected  with  the  next  by  an  inner 
door,  as  did  the  remaining  three,  so,  after  Sturman 
had  assured  them  that,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge, 
everything  here  was  still  in  order,  Hunt  passed 
through  the  inner  door  into  what  appeared  to  be  an 
extremely  well-equipped  workshop. 

Everything  the  practical  mechanic  needed  to  help 
him  ply  his  trade  was  here,  and  everything  was  left 
tidily  in  its  appointed  place. 

There  did  not  seem  much  chance  of  picking  up  a 
clue  here,  so,  as  Sturman  was  satisfied  nothing  had 
been  taken,  they  continued  on  their  tour  of  inspec- 
tion. 

The  next  room  and  its  contents  provided  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  surprise  to  the  three  police 
officials.  It  seemed  as  though  they  had  passed  into 
the  natural  history  room  of  some  private  museum. 

Confronting  them,  as  they  opened  the  door,  was 
a  stuffed  panther,  crouched  as  if  to  spring.  Near 
by,  more  towards  the  centre  of  the  room,  two  lion 
cubs  gambolled,  whilst  their  mother  stood  rigid,  as 
if  on  guard  over  her  offspring. 

"Sir  Charles  bagged  everything  in  this  room  him- 
self, sir,"  remarked  Sturman  to  the  Chief  Constable, 
his  utterance  given  in  the  tone  of  one  who  has  cause 


122  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

to  be  proud  of  his  handicraft — almost  as  though  he 
himself  had  done  the  bagging.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  had  not  been  in  Sir  Charles'  service  when  the 
majority  of  the  exhibits  were  taken,  but  he  had  heard 
so  often  the  well-deserved  admiration  of  visitors  that 
he  had  come  to  accept  their  praise  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Even  Hunt,  a  worker  at  all  times,  but  now  the 
hard-pressed  investigator  of  two  callous  murders, 
was  unable  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  room  for 
some  minutes.  After  inspecting  a  few  smaller  fauna 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  lioness,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  the  walls,  around  which  ran  tier  upon  tier  of  glass- 
fronted  cases,  all  numbered  and  labelled. 

Those  down  the  two  longer  walls  contained  birds, 
brightly  plumaged  representatives  of  every  conti- 
nent, ranging  from  the  diminutive  humming-bird  of 
South  America  to  the  more  common  bullfinch  of  the 
British  Isles.  Each  exhibit  was  set  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible in  its  natural  surroundings,  in  many  cases  the 
nest  and  eggs  being  shown  also. 

The  two  shorter  sides  of  the  museum  contained: 
on  the  north  side,  fish,  and  on  the  south  side,  reptiles. 
Reptiles  of  all  sizes  and  nations — from  the  little 
adder,  so  plentiful  on  the  headland  where  Sir  Charles 
had  crashed,  to  the  black  mamba  of  Darkest  Africa. 

Many  of  the  birds,  particularly  the  English  ones, 
had  been  stuffed  by  Sir  Charles  himself,  explained 
Sturman.  His  dead  master  was,  he  said,  a  man  who 
could  turn  his  hand  to  anything,  as  they  would  see 
by  the  examination  of  the  next  room,  where  every 
exhibit  was  of  his  own  fashioning. 

And,  indeed,  before  many  minutes  had  elapsed, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  123 

they  all  confirmed  the  butler's  statement.  For  this 
room  was  a  veritable  abode  of  art — art  in  all  its 
forms. 

On  the  walls  hung  drawings  and  paintings  of 
every  conceivable  kind :  black  and  white  prints ;  land- 
scapes and  portraits  in  oil  and  water-colour;  a  few 
hand-coloured  photographs;  all  exquisite  examples, 
seemingly  flawless. 

Little  tables  and  niches  in  various  parts  of  the 
room  contained  statues,  wrought  in  metal  in  some 
instances,  carved  in  marble  in  others,  while  yet  more 
were  of  the  purest  alabaster. 

Hunt  recognised  an  effigy  of  Sir  Charles  himself 
among  the  latter  examples,  an  excellent  life-size  rep- 
lica of  the  head  and  shoulders.  Truly  the  dead  bar  • 
onet  had  been  a  great  craftsman. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  for  Sturman  to  ascertain 
that  the  contents  of  the  room  were  as  they  should 
be,  then  the  party  went  out  on  to  the  landing  again. 
After  the  butler  had  relocked  the  doors,  they  all  de- 
scended to  the  bedrooms. 

Sir  Charles'  room  was  the  first  to  be  visited.  A 
spacious  room,  giving  a  grand  view  of  the  park  and 
lake,  it  contained  very  little  furniture,  though  what 
there  was  was  good,  and  well  chosen. 

Among  the  pictures  on  the  walls  was  a  photograph 
of  the  Evanses  standing  by  their  little  white  mono- 
plane, taken  but  a  fortnight  since. 

There  was  little  to  detain  them  here,  for  the  room 
bore  no  trace  of  the  brief  tenancy  of  Sir  Henry. 
Sturman  paid  particular  attention  to  the  room,  even 
rapidly  going  through  the  dressing-table  drawers, 


124,  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

but  once  again,  he  assured  them,  everything  was  in- 
tact. 

The  examination  of  the  other  bedrooms  was  brief 
yet  thorough,  but  it  yielded  no  clue  to  the  lynx-eyed 
Inspector  from  the  Yard.  Neither,  for  that  mat- 
ter, did  it  enlighten  the  Chief  Constable  or  Super- 
intendent Walker.  The  downstairs  rooms  were  next 
gone  over  just  as  efficiently,  but  with  still  the  same 
result — nothing  disturbed  and  no  clue.  The  mys- 
tery surrounding  Sir  Henry's  disappearance  seemed 
inexplicable ! 


XI 
THE  DEAD  MAN'S  BOOTS 

THE  officials  having  invited  Sturman  to  join  them 
at  their  meal,  an  extra  place  was  laid,  and  the  four 
sat  down  to  table. 

For  some  time  everyone  tried  to  keep  the  conversa- 
tion off  the  crimes  and  to  talk  of  less  sordid  things. 
But,  no  matter  what  subject  cropped  up,  it  sooner 
or  later  led  directly  back  to  one  or  other  of  the  chief 
characters  in  this  tragic  drama. 

For  instance,  an  intended  attack  by  an  American 
on  the  water  speed  record  as  a  topic  brought  Sir 
Charles'  name  to  the  fore.  He  was,  Sturman  de- 
clared, an  extremely  capable,  though  daring,  driver, 
and  his  little  outboard  motor-boat,  which  he  kept  in 
the  boathouse  on  the  lakeside,  was  one  of  the  fastest 
of  its  class  in  the  country. 

Similarly,  a  discussion  on  the  danger  of  the  motor- 
cycle as  a  means  of  transport  turned  the  conversa- 
tion on  to  Jim  Hucklesby  and  his  hopes  and  chances 
in  the  race  for  the  Tourist  Trophy.  The  next  stage 
was  for  Hunt  to  recall  his  exciting  pillion  ride,  which 
led  directly  to  the  subject  of  Bailey. 

As  the  officials  naturally  were  loath  to  expatiate 
their  theories  before  an  outsider,  especially  one  who 
must  himself  be  regarded  (like  all  the  others  at  For- 
est Court)  with  a  certain  amount  of  suspicion,  the 
conversation  was  inclined  to  lapse  for  a  time. 

125 


126  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Then,  after  one  of  the  latest  "talkies"  had  been 
the  subject  of  a  spirited  argument  for  some  minutes, 
and  the  talk  tended  to  drift  towards  the  film  which 
Sir  Charles  and  the  Evanses  were  engaged  in  pro- 
ducing, the  telephone  bell  began  to  ring. 

Sturman  answered  the  call,  then  immediately 
handed  the  instrument  to  the  Superintendent. 

The  disturber  of  their  talk  was  Sergeant  Kirk, 
who  had  startling  news.  He  had,  he  said,  had  the 
body  of  the  convict  Newton  removed  to  a  room  at 
the  Crown  Inn  at  Redstock.  The  Coroner  had  de- 
cided to  open  the  inquest  at  5  P.M.  Dr.  Grier,  the 
police  surgeon,  had  decided  that  death  was  in  all 
probability  due  to  natural  causes,  but  he  would,  of 
course,  hold  a  post-mortem  examination. 

The  matter  that  Kirk  wanted  to  draw  the  Super- 
intendent's attention  to,  was,  he  thought,  peculiar, 
to  say  the  least  of  it. 

He  had  been  examining  the  dead  man's  boots  with 
a  view  to  connecting  him  with  the  maker  of  the  single 
set  of  tracks  in  the  adjoining  meadow.  He  had  dis- 
covered, however  (from  notes  in  his  pocket-book  and 
a  photograph  of  the  prints),  that  the  boots  were 
much  too  small  to  fit  the  tracks,  and  was  replacing 
them  by  the  body  when  something  drew  his  eyes  to 
the  dead  man's  feet. 

It  struck  him  at  once  as  curious  that  the  wearer 
of  such  weather-beaten  footgear  as  the  old  boots  were 
should  have  feet  so  well  formed  and  free  from  corns 
and  blisters. 

Bending  lower,  he  had  suddenly  noticed  that  the 
feet  appeared  to  be  too  large  for  the  boots  by  the 
body  to  fit  them. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  127 

Losing  no  time,  he  had  proceeded  to  put  his  theory 
to  the  test.  Unlacing  one  of  the  boots,  he  had  at- 
tempted to  fit  it  to  the  foot. 

As  he  expected,  he  was  unable  to  do  so.  It  was 
obvious  that  the  dead  man  never  had,  and  never 
would  have,  been  able  to  wear  so  small  a  size  as  a  six. 

His  next  step  had  been  to  call  the  doctor's  atten- 
tion to  the  matter.  Dr.  Grier  had  not  only  been 
able  to  confirm  his  opinion  regarding  the  impossi- 
bility of  Newton  wearing  the  boots,  but  had  also  been 
able  to  assure  him  that  the  dead  man's  correct  size 
was  an  eight,  and,  judging  by  the  well-preserved 
state  of  the  feet,  he  was  confident  the  convict  had 
been  wearing  his  normal  size  up  to  the  time  of  death. 

This  new  development  was  likely  to  put  an  en- 
tirely different  complexion  on  the  case,  and  as  Stur- 
man  had,  on  hearing  the  message  was  for  the  police, 
excused  himself  and  left  the  room,  the  three  were 
free  to  decide  in  privacy  the  next  step  to  be  taken. 

Major  Williams  possessed  a  quick  brain,  and  vol- 
unteered his  opinion  immediately.  "I  think,"  he 
began  in  a  strong  manner,  "it  is  obvious  that  we 
must  now  regard  Newton  with  the  gravest  suspicion. 

"Here  we  have  an  escaped  convict,  a  desperate 
man,  as  his  record  shows,  hiding  from  justice,  and 
considering  the  police  as  his  most  dangerous  enemies. 
Now  the  murdered  man,  James,  was  a  police  officer. 
That  fact  alone  gives  us  a  motive. 

"The  very  fact  of  the  convict's  body  being  dis- 
covered not  more  than  ten  minutes'  walk  from  the 
place  where  Ball  found  the  body  of  the  constable 
shows  us  that  in  all  probability  Newton  had  the  op- 
portunity. Indeed,  the  news  that  he  was  up  in  Red- 


128  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

stock  begging  writing  materials  from  Mrs.  Abbot 
strengthens  and  confirms  my  view  that  he  had  the 
opportunity. 

"Now  as  regards  the  means.  We  don't  know  yet 
that  he  had  the  means,  but  /  think  it  is  highly  prob- 
able that  he  had.  You  will  remember  the  ending  of 
the  description  broadcast  concerning  him  when  he 
made  his  escape  from  Parkhurst  last  March?  'He 
is  a  dangerous  man,  and  may  be  carrying  firearms.' ' 

Here  the  Chief  Constable  paused  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, pondering  how  best  to  continue.  The  others 
watched  him  intently.  It  had  been  clear  to  them 
all  along  that  he  had  taken  the  murder  of  one  of  his 
most  promising  men  very  much  to  heart. 

Presently  he  continued,  "Of  course,  the  murder 
was  not  premeditated.  Picture  yourself  in  Newton's 
place.  He  had  walked  across  the  meadow,  through 
the  marshy  patch,  where  he  must  have  realised  he 
was  leaving  footprints,  and  across  to  the  hedge  where 
James  stood  in  Redstock  Lane. 

"Here  he  was  challenged  by  the  constable.  Un- 
less he  could  silence  him  quickly — and  silence  him 
for  good — he  must  be  prepared  to  go  back  to  prison, 
to  be  shut  away  inside  those  grey,  unrelenting  walls, 
to  lose  touch  with  his  fellow  creatures,  and  to  say 
good-bye  to  freedom  for  the  next  five  years.  And 
this  time  there  would  be  no  chance  of  escape — a 
prison-breaker  does  not  get  a  second  chance. 

"Then,  of  course,  he  used  his  gun.  Once  the  con- 
stable fell  dead  he  must  have  realised  that  he  had 
burned  his  boats.  The  thought  of  thf  footprints 
must  have  crossed  his  mind.  How  was  he  to  make 
good  his  escape?  A  difficult  enough  proposition  for 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  129 

any  man;  what  must  it  have  been  like  for  Newton, 
a  man  already  being  hounded  from  pillar  to  post? 
The  matter  called  for  the  greatest  caution — one  false 
step  and  then  the  gallows. 

"Well,  gentlemen — we  know  he  had  been  in  the 
neighbourhood  at  least  a  couple  of  days.  He  must 
have  seen  the  cows  come  up  from  the  Valley  Meadow, 
cross  the  road  into  Angels,  and  then  go  up  by  the 
spot  where  he  must  have  been  standing,  to  the  gate 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  pasture. 

"Here,  perhaps,  was  a  chance  of  escape.  If  he 
picked  his  way  carefully  to  the  road,  avoiding  the 
softer  patches  en  route,  he  could  hope  for  the  pass- 
ing cattle  to  remove  all  traces  in  the  morning. 

"Then,  as  an  extra  precaution,  he  may  have  re- 
moved his  boots  before  going  out  on  to  the  highway. 
No,  on  second  thoughts  I'll  wash  that  idea  out.  A 
man  parading  the  highway  carrying  his  boots  would 
be  an  object  of  suspicion — and  that  was  what  he  had 
to  avoid  being  now  at  all  costs. 

"At  any  rate,  I'm  pretty  certain  that  before  carry- 
ing out  the  next  part  of  his  scheme  he  walked  back- 
wards and  forwards  across  that  portion  of  the  road- 
way that  lay  between  the  gates,  over  which  the  cows 
would  pass,  until  all  traces  of  the  wet  mud  had  been 
removed  from  his  boots. 

"Then,  when  he  was  satisfied  that  all  was  gone,  I 
feel  sure  that  he  carried  on  down  the  main  road  to- 
wards Highcliffe.  Now,  about  three  hundred  yards 
down  the  road  from  Totland  Corner  there's  a  little 
coppice,  or,  rather,  a  little  dell,  the  banks  of  which 
are  covered  with  bushes.  The  place  is  a  favourite 
camping-ground  for  gipsies.  In  this  hollow  lies  an 


130  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

amazing  collection  of  kettles,  pots  and  pans,  old  hats 
and  other  articles  of  apparel,  and  the  usual  quota 
of  old  boots,  the  cast-away  junk  of  the  campers. 

"At  the  meadow  end  of  the  gully  is  a  deep  pond, 
through  which  a  stream  is  always  running — you 
know  the  place,  Walker,  I'm  sure." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Superintendent.  "I  know  it 
well;  we're  always  being  called  there  to  move  the 
campers  on.  It's  private  property,  but  the  gipsies 
seem  to  regard  it  as  theirs  by  hereditary  right." 

Hunt  did  not  know  the  actual  spot  to  which  the 
local  men  were  referring,  but  was  able  to  visualise 
it  quite  easily.  There  were  many  such  dumps  in 
country  districts,  he  knew  from  experience. 

The  Chief  Constable  started  on  the  final  lap  of 
his  theory. 

"Here  I  consider  Newton  to  have  made  his 
great  mistake.  Probably,  due  to  his  nervousness, 
he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  betraying  boots  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment.  Seeing  all  the  old  boots 
around,  or  knowing  from  what  he  had  seen  during  a 
previous  foraging  expedition  that  the  dump  con- 
tained boots,  he  immediately  threw  his  own  boots  and 
the  revolver  into  the  pond,  weighting  the  former 
more  likely  than  not. 

"Then,  to  his  horror  and  disappointment,  he  dis- 
covered that  all  the  boots  in  the  dell  were  too  small. 
His  plan  for  escape  frustrated,  what  was  he  to  do? 
Far  better  to  lie  low  than  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
seen  walking  bootless  on  the  night  of  the  murder. 
From  where  he  was  he  had  no  trouble  to  get  back 
to  his  shelter — it  was  just  across  the  meadow — and 
the  damp  grass  would  not  have  marked  his  feet,"  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  131 

Chief  Constable  concluded,  a  look  of  justifiable  pride 
growing  on  his  face. 

"A  wonderful  theory,  sir,"  said  the  Superintend- 
ent approvingly.  "And  right,  too,  I  should  say. 
Every  fact  in  its  place — and  not  a  flaw  that  I  can 
see.  I  suppose  you  expect  to  recover  the  boots  and 
gun  by  dragging?" 

"Yes.  I'd  better  get  some  men  on  the  job  right 
away.  What  do  you  say,  Inspector?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "Dragging  seems  the  best 
way  of  testing  the  soundness  of  your  theory.  I  sup- 
pose you  assume  that  Newton  carried  the  small  pair 
of  boots  for  appearance'  sake — just  in  case  anyone 
looked  in  the  hut?" 

"Exactly,"  assented  the  Chief  Constable.  "That 
would  be  the  only  reason."  He  looked  at  Hunt 
keenly.  "I  fancy  that  you  don't  altogether  find  my 
theory  to  your  liking,  Inspector?"  he  queried. 

Hunt's  thoughtful  expression  gave  way  to  a  smile. 
"I  find  your  theory  extremely  interesting,  and  it's 
possibly  correct,"  he  replied  evasively,  "but,  if  you'll 
pardon  my  differing,  sir,  I  think  you've  left  out  one 
important  point,  which  has,  I  feel  certain,  a  direct 
bearing  on  the  case." 

"And  that?" 

"The  car  that  stopped  in  Redstock  Lane." 

The  Chief  Constable  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
Truth  to  tell,  the  presence  of  the  car  had  been  in 
the  back  of  his  mind  throughout.  "Of  course,  the 
car  may  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  crime,  after 
all,"  he  suggested.  "All  we  know  is  that  it  passed 
up  Redstock  Lane  after  the  constable  had  begun  to 


132  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

retrace  his  steps  from  the  junction  of  the  lane  and 
main  road. 

"Possibly  the  constable  already  lay  dead,  and  the 
driver  stopped  the  car  to  render  assistance.  Then, 
seeing  the  policeman  was  beyond  human  aid,  may 
he  not  have  driven  off  again?" 

"He  may,"  agreed  Hunt.  "Quite  possibly. — But 
don't  you  think  as  he  did  not  report  the  tragedy  that 
he  must  have  had  guilty  knowledge?" 

This  question  was  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
stumbling-block  to  the  Chief  Constable,  who  mum- 
bled something  about  "being  in  a  panic,"  but  his 
tone  no  longer  carried  conviction. 

"And  again,"  continued  Hunt.  "It's  my  theory 
that  both  this  murder  and  that  of  Sir  Charles  Staf- 
ford were  carried  out  by  the  same  person  using  the 
same  weapon.  I  can't  see  how  we  can  fit  Newton  in 
as  the  murderer  of  Sir  Charles." 

"No.  I  agree  with  you  there.  Newton  could 
hardly  have  done  both  murders — unless  there's  a  lot 
more  in  this  case  that  has  still  to  come  out.  But 
you'll  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that  the  same  weapon 
was  not  necessarily  used?" 

"Oh,  quite,  sir.  I  grant  you  I  may  be  wrong. 
Anyhow,  we  shall  soon  know ;  I'm  expecting  a  report 
from  Inspector  Carliss  of  the  Armoury  Department 
at  the  Yard.  It  should  be  down  any  time  now,  and 
I  have  the  strongest  premonition  still  that  my  opin- 
ion will  be  proved  to  be  correct." 

"Perhaps  so,"  granted  the  Chief  Constable.  "Per- 
haps so."  Then — "Have  you  formed  any  theory 
yourself,  Inspector?" 

"Hardly  a  theory,  sir.    Just  an  idea.  .  .   .  When 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  133 

you  'phone  up  the  station  to  get  your  men  on  the 
job  of  dragging  the  pond,  perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  get  this  message  circulated,"  replied  Hunt, 
producing  a  pencil  and  paper. 

He  wrote  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  his  pencil  glid- 
ing easily  over  the  sheet.  "Perhaps  it  would  pay 
to  get  some  bills  printed  too.  Could  that  be  ar- 
ranged, Superintendent?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Walker.  "No  trouble  at  all. 
What  do  you  want  done?" 

"Just  this.  I'll  read  it  through.  This  for  the 
police : 

"  'WANTED.  Information  as  to  the  whereabouts 
of  a  man  of  the  tramp  class,  probably  of  small 
physique.  Wearing  boots  size  eight,  two  sizes  too 
large  for  him.  Was  in  the  vicinity  of  Redstock 
between  dates  May  20th  and  24th  last.' 

"And  for  the  bills: 

"  'Will  the  man  who  changed  boots  with  a  dead 
man  in  a  hut  near  village  of  Redstock  between 
May  20th  and  May  24th  please  communicate  at 
once  with  the  nearest  police  station.  No  action 
will  be  taken  against  him,  and  reward  will  be  given 
him  for  information  he  possesses.'  " 


XII 
A  LOOK  ROUND  THE  GROUNDS 

THE  others  saw  at  once  the  trend  of  Hunt's  idea. 
"A  good  alternative  theory,"  commented  the  Super- 
intendent. "It's  just  as  well  to  have  two  strings  to 
our  bow."  Then — "I'll  get  on  the  'phone  at  once," 
he  continued,  reaching  for  the  instrument,  "and  get 
your  messages  out." 

The  Chief  Constable  had  risen  to  his  feet  and 
stood  gazing  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window.  "Shall 
we  take  a  look  round  the  outbuildings,"  he  asked, 
"whilst  Walker  is  'phoning  our  instructions  through  ? 
There's  no  especial  hurry  for  us  to  get  out  to  the 
pond ;  it'll  take  the  men  an  hour  or  so  to  get  on  the 
job." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "I  was  going  to  suggest 
the  same  thing  myself." 

The  hangars  and  the  garage  being  nearest  to  the 
house,  joined  by  a  passage,  it  will  be  remembered, 
it  was  to  them  that  Hunt  led  the  way. 

Nothing  had  been  disturbed  here.  The  little  sin- 
gle-seater 'plane  alone  occupied  the  hangar,  and  the 
Rover  and  Bugatti  were  still  in  their  places  in  the 
garage. 

The  search  of  the  few  odd  outbuildings  revealed 
nothing  of  interest,  and  they  were  just  about  to  re- 
turn to  Walker  in  the  study  when  Hunt  remembered 
that  Bailey's  cottage  and  the  outbuildings  near  by 
had  only  had  the  most  casual  inspection. 

134 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  135 

At  that  moment  a  gardener  came  in  sight.  Hunt 
called  him  over  to  ascertain  if  the  buildings  by  the 
lakeside  were  kept  locked  up  during  the  daytime. 

He  thought  not,  he  said,  but  would  slip  indoors 
and  fetch  the  keys  in  case  they  were,  and  accompany 
them  if  they  wished.  Hunt  intimated  his  acceptance 
of  this  offer,  and,  after  a  couple  of  minutes'  absence, 
the  man  rejoined  them  with  the  necessary  keys. 

They  were  comparatively  silent  during  the  jour- 
ney across  the  park,  the  gardener  especially  so,  being 
awed,  no  doubt,  at  the  thought  of  the  company  he 
was  in. 

Arrived  at  this  part  of  the  estate,  Bailey's  cot- 
tage was  the  first  place  to  receive  attention.  The 
search  here,  though  brief,  was  thorough,  but  no  clues 
were  discovered  hidden  away  amongst  the  arrested 
mechanic's  belongings. 

The  electric  power  station  was  next  visited.  Quite 
a  small  building,  its  space  was  almost  entirely  utilised 
by  the  necessary  machinery.  A  small  petrol  engine 
was  fixed  to  the  floor,  just  inside  the  door;  a  few 
feet  farther  on  stood  the  belt-driven  dynamo;  while 
the  far  end  of  the  shed  held  the  bubbling  cells.  A 
small  switch-board  connected  to  the  batteries  com- 
pleted the  equipment. 

From  here  a  brief  visit  to  the  repair  shop  revealed 
the  fact  that  Jim  had  fetched  his  motor-cycle  from 
the  constable's  house  at  Houghton,  and  had,  pre- 
sumably, returned  the  trusty  Morris. 

Hucklesby  nodded  pleasantly  to  the  two  officials, 
blushing  like  a  schoolgirl  when  the  Chief  Constable 
complimented  him  again  on  his  daring  driving  of 
the  night  before. 


136  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

This  concluded  the  search,  with  the  exception  of 
the  boathouse  on  the  lakeside,  which  Hunt  wanted 
to  see,  more  out  of  curiosity  than  with  hopes  of  pick- 
ing up  a  clue. 

The  wooden  structure  was  some  twenty  feet  long 
by  fifteen  wide.  It  contained  a  couple  of  outboard 
motor-boats  and  a  flat-bottomed  punt.  The  shed 
had  been  built  over  a  little  natural  harbour,  which 
allowed  the  boats  to  float  in  a  good  six  feet  of  water. 

Noticing  a  sodden  handkerchief  lying  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  punt,  Hunt  stepped  into  the  craft  and 
picked  it  up.  Inspecting  it,  he  found  that  it  bore 
the  initials  D.  E. 

"One  of  young  Evans',  by  the  look  of  things,"  he 
said  to  the  Chief  Constable. 

The  remark  seemed  to  awaken  memories  in  the 
gardener's  brain.  "Oh,  yes,"  he  started.  Luckily 
he  spoke  slowly,  for  the  officials  were  hard  put  to 
follow  his  atrocious  English.  "I  can  tell  yer  'ow 
that  comes  ter  be  there.  .  .  .  The  late  marster,  tho' 
I  sez  it  mesself  what  'as  no  right  ter,  used  ter  drive 
these  'ere  boats  abaht  like  'ell.  Didn't  use  ter  use 
no  gumptun  at  all — 'e  'ad  ter  swim  forrit  on  two 
occasions  that  I  knowed  of  larst  week. 

"Yer  see  that  little  buoy  out  yonder?"  he  queried, 
pointing  a  gnarled  forefinger  out  beyond  the  open 
end  of  the  boathouse  to  where  a  small  black  object 
could  be  seen  floating  in  the  centre  of  the  lake. 

The  two  police  officers  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "Sir  Charles  'ad  a  'abit  uf 
drivin'  roune  there  as  close  in  h'as  'e  cud  git.  Some- 
times 'e  got  roune — sometimes  'e  didn't.  .  .  .  When 
'e  was  a  practisin'  like  this  'ere  'e  kept  the  punt 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  137 

moored  close  by  so  as  'e  'adn't  fur  ter  swim — an' 
then  when  'e  got  ter  it  'e  got  in  an'  pushed  over  ter 
'is  motor-boat,  what  didn't  use  ter  sink  but  floated 
upzide  downe.  .  .  .  Then  'e'd  fix  a  towrope  an'  'aul 
it  back  ashore. 

"That's  what  I  alwus  sed  'ud  be  the  endin'  of  'im — 
drownin',  not  flyin' — 'e  were  safe  enuf  up  there.  .  .  . 
H'as  I  told  my  missis  larst  Wensdy,  or  let  me  see, 
were  it  Tewsdy — I  carn't  call  it  ter  mind  exactly, 
but  I  know  she  'ad  just  got  back  from  ole  Widder 
Corrigan's  an — " 

Hunt  cut  his  reminiscences  short.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"but  you  haven't  told  us  yet  how  the  handkerchief 
came  to  be  left  in  the  punt." 

"Lor'  bless  yer,  no!  I  was  furgettin'  abaht  that 
thro'  thinkin'  uf  ole  Widder  Corrigan,  as  naggin' 
an'  gossipin'  ole  'ag  as  ever  walked  on  two  feet,"  he 
replied,  his  dislike  of  the  Widow  Corrigan  showing 
plainly  on  his  weather-beaten  face. 

"  'Twus  like  this  'ere,"  he  went  on.  "Abaht  'arf 
arter  ten  t'other  night,  the  night  they  'ad  a  bit  uf 
a  do  up  at  the  'ouse,  I  wus  out — 

The  Chief  Constable  pulled  him  up.  "You  mean 
the  night  before  last?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  that's  right,  the  night  afore  larst.  As  I 
wus  sayin'  I  went  out  abaht  'arf  arter  ten  to  'ave 
a  larst  look  roune  at  my  snares — 

Here  he  stopped  short  and  looked  at  the  Chief 
Constable. 

"Sir  Charles  used  ter  let  me  do  a  bit  of  rabbitin'," 
he  ventured  to  explain. 

"Of  course.    Why  not?"  said  the  Chief  Constable 


138  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

soothingly.  "I  believe  Sir  Charles  mentioned  the 
fact  to  me,"  he  added  untruthfully. 

Reassured,  the  gardener  resumed  his  narrative. 

"Well,  when  I  got  downe  ter  a  spot  oppisit  the 
boat'ouse  on  t'other  side  uf  the  lake  I  'eard  wun  uf 
the  moter-boats  startin'  up.  Uf  course  it  wus  a  luvly 
moonlight  night,  as  bright  as  day  at  the  time,  tho' 
it  come  on  ter  rain  'ard  later.  Well — arter  a  mo- 
ment out  come  the  boat  at  a  'ell  of  a  lick,  an'  it  went 
racin'  roune  the  lake  a  time  or  two. 

"There  wus  two  people  in  it ;  wun  wus  Sir  Charles 
'isself — an'  t'other  yung  Mr.  Evans,  whose  'anker- 
chief  you're  'oldin'  in  your  'and. 

"Then  I  set  eyes  on  the  punt  comin'  across  the 
water.  When  it  got  ter  jus'  by  the  buoy  it  stopped 
— an'  I  cud  see  who  wus  in  it. 

"It  were  yung  Mr.  Evans,  a  lookin'  as  graceful 
as  a — " 

He  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully,  as  if  hoping 
to  produce  a  suitable  word,  but,  receiving  no  in- 
spiration, left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"Then  Sir  Charles,"  he  went  on,  "started  ter  open 
'er  out.  Lor',  didn't  'e  muve.  Seemed  so  much 
farster  in  the  moonlight  some'ow.  Roune  an'  roune 
'e  shot,  gittin'  closer  an'  closer  to  the  buoy  each  time 
'e  tried.  Then  'e  did  it  once  tew  often,  an'  over  went 
the  'ole  bag  uf  tricks  an'  shot  'em  in  the  water.  Of 
course  they  swum  ter  the  punt  an'  as  soon  as  I  see'd 
they  wus  all  right  I  pusht  on  ter  'ave  a  dec'  at  the 
rest  uf  me  wires." 

"I  see,"  said  Hunt.  "You  think  Mr.  Evans  must 
have  used  the  handkerchief  to  help  dry  himself,  and 
then  left  it  in  the  punt?" 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  139 

"Yessir,"  agreed  the  gardener.  "That's  'ow  I 
figur's  it  out." 

"Well,  there's  not  much  to  interest  us  here,  In- 
spector, is  there?"  asked  the  Chief  Constable.  "Are 
you  ready  to  go  back  to  the  house?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt,  "we've  seen  all  there  is  to 
see  on  this  part  of  the  estate.  Let's  go  and  drag 
your  pond." 

They  were  soon  back  at  the  house,  and  as  they 
left  the  gardener  Hunt  tipped  him  the  price  of  a 
drink.  True,  he  had  not  been  of  much  assistance 
to  them,  but  he  might  still  prove  of  value  if  looked 
after. 

Walker  was  trying  one  of  Sir  Charles'  cigars, 
sitting  well  back  in  an  easy  chair,  a  pencil  in  his 
hand  and  his  notebook  on  his  knee,  when  they  re- 
entered  the  study. 

He  closed  the  book  when  he  saw  them  enter,  rising 
to  join  them.  "Best  cigar  I've  had  for  a  twelve- 
month," he  declared.  "Try  one,  gentlemen?"  he  in- 
vited, generously  pushing  the  box  across. 

"No,  not  for  me,"  said  Hunt.  "I'll  have  a  ciga- 
rette." 

"Try  one  of  these,"  said  the  Chief  Constable, 
opening  his  case  and  passing  it  over — at  the  same 
time  helping  himself  to  a  Corona  with  his  other  hand. 

But,  before  either  of  them  could  light  up,  the  tele- 
phone bell  rang.  Hunt,  being  nearest,  took  off  the 
receiver. 

"From  the  station,"  he  announced,  after  a  mo- 
ment or  so,  then,  putting  his  hand  over  the  mouth- 
piece, added :  "It's  about  Bailey.  He  says  he  wants 
to  make  a  statement!" 


AT  THE  POND 

THE  effect  of  Hunt's  statement  on  the  other  two 
was  almost  magical.  The  look  of  intense  seriousness 
on  Major  Williams'  face  gave  way  to  an  expression 
of  eager  hopefulness,  whilst  the  Superintendent 
grinned  expansively. 

"Coming  to  his  senses,  is  he?"  remarked  Walker. 
"Now  perhaps  we  shall  be  able  to  see  a  glimmer  of 
daylight." 

"Yes,"  said  Hunt  thoughtfully,  "now  we  shall 
know  exactly  what  part  the  Bentley  played  in  the 
crime." 

"You  think  he  will  tell  the  truth?"  queried  the 
Chief  Constable. 

"I  do,"  answered  Hunt.  "He's  too  scared  now  to 
attempt  any  bluff.  It'll  be  the  truth,  and,  I  think, 
the  whole  truth. — Don't  forget  the  time  is  getting 
on,  and  he  has  had  the  first  edition  of  the  paper." 

"You  think  Evans  has  communicated  with  him, 
then?"  asked  the  Superintendent.  Then — "If  he 
has,"  he  added,  thinking  deeply,  and  not  waiting  for 
a  reply,  "it  means,  of  course,  that  he  has  got  well 
away — but  still,  he  cannot  have  left  the  country,  or 
he  could  not  have  inserted  the  advertisement." 

"And  in  that  case  his  handicap  should  soon  play 
him  into  our  hands,"  commented  Hunt. 

"Handicap — what  handicap  ?" 

140 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  141 

"The  handicap  of  losing  all  his  money.  We  can 
assume  from  what  we've  already  gathered  that  the 
whole  of  his  worldly  goods  were  in  that  bag  of 
Evans'.  And,  as  we  have  the  bag,  it  follows  that 
his  movements  are  limited.  Sooner  or  later  he'll  have 
to  show  himself,  and  then — " 

"Yes,"  agreed  Walker,  "I  had  certainly  over- 
looked the  money  question.  Perhaps  our  case  is  not 
going  to  be  so  very  difficult  after  all.  Well,  as  we're 
ready,  gentlemen,  let's  get  to  the  car.  .  .  ." 

Soon  after  passing  through  Highcliffe,  they 
stopped  at  the  little  wooded  dell  where  the  dragging 
operations  were  about  to  take  place. 

A  couple  of  motor-cycles  were  already  drawn  up 
by  the  roadside,  and  as  the  trio  descended  from  their 
car  a  police  tender  drew  in  sight. 

The  sergeant  in  charge,  stepping  out,  saluted  the 
Chief  Constable,  who  explained  to  him  the  reason  for 
the  dragging  order  being  given. 

Then,  seeing  the  men  were  ready,  he  led  the  way, 
over  some  low  iron  railings,  through  the  thick  bushes 
behind  them,  into  the  meadow,  and  so  round  to  the 
pond. 

The  Chief  Constable  and  Superintendent  brought 
up  the  rear  of  the  procession  with  Hunt,  but  the  In- 
spector, after  climbing  the  rails,  chose  the  lower 
route  through  the  dell,  past  the  pots  and  pans  and 
old  clothes  that  were  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the 
dump.  He  halted  here  a  few  minutes  before  rejoin- 
ing the  others,  giving  his  whole  attention  to  the  cast- 
away articles  of  apparel.  Then,  satisfied,  he  pro- 
ceeded through  to  the  little  party,  feeling  that  his 


142  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

foresight  promised  to  save  them  some  considerable 
time. 

The  Chief  Constable  stood  apart  from  the  others, 
waiting  for  the  men  to  begin.  He  could  guess  from 
Hunt's  face  as  the  Inspector  approached  him  that 
the  Yard  man  had  discovered  something.  He  began 
to  feel  too  that  the  "something"  was  a  snag  in  his 
theory. 

He  was  not  far  wrong,  as  the  Inspector's  first 
words  showed  him. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  Hunt  began  as  he  came  up  to 
him,  "but  I'm  afraid  our  dragging's  not  going  to 
be  the  success  we  had  hoped." 

"Oh!  Why  not?  Out  with  it,  Inspector. — You've 
already  had  a  find,  I  know." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "I  believe  I  have.  If  you 
can  spare  a  minute,  just  come  with  me  and  see  for 
yourself.  It'll  be  a  bit  of  a  disappointment,  though, 
I'm  afraid." 

The  Chief  Constable  followed  without  a  word. 
What  clue  had  he  missed  this  time,  he  wondered. 

Walker,  perceiving  the  other  two  move  off,  fol- 
lowed in  their  wake.  Opposite  to  the  heap  of  rub- 
bish, Hunt  pulled  up.  "You'll  see  there's  over  a 
dozen  old  boots  in  this  little  pile,"  he  said.  "I  picked 
them  all  up  in  less  than  a  couple  of  minutes.  .  .  . 
You'll  find  every  one  is  an  eight — or  even  larger. — 
There's  not  a  six  among  them!" 

The  Chief  Constable  realised  immediately  that  the 
Inspector's  find  exploded  his  theory  of  Newton  being 
the  murderer  most  effectively.  It  was  hardly  feas- 
ible that  the  convict  snatched  up  the  first  two  boots 
he  came  across  and  bolted  barefoot,  without  even 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  143 

trying  them  on.  No,  his  case  against  the  dead  man 
seemed  damaged  irretrievably. 

But  he  bore  no  malice  against  the  Yard  man.  A 
man  with  the  Inspector's  varied  experience  and  bril- 
liant deductive  powers  was,  he  realised,  too  valuable 
a  helpmate  to  upset  by  showing  signs  of  jealousy. 
Indeed,  he  openly  considered  himself  extremely  lucky 
to  be  able  to  enjoy  the  younger  man's  friendship, 
and  wondered  whether,  if  he  had  been  without  the 
Inspector's  valuable  assistance,  Bailey  would  have 
been  safe  under  lock  and  key. 

Although  he  had  almost  lost  faith  in  his  theory, 
on  Hunt's  advice  he  gave  the  men  instructions  to 
carry  on  with  the  dragging,  on  the  off-chance  of 
something  coming  to  light,  before  rejoining  the  In- 
spector and  Walker,  who  were  walking  to  the  car. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  again  on  the  road. 
Apart  from  their  breaking  their  journey  at  Christ- 
church  where  they  partook  of  a  hurried  cup  of  tea, 
and  a  chance  meeting  with  old  Pope,  the  coastguard, 
as  they  left  the  cafe,  the  trip  was  quite  uneventful. 

Within  a  few  minutes  of  their  arrival  the  mechanic 
was  shown  into  the  little  room  where  the  three  officials 
sat.  At  a  nod  from  the  Superintendent,  the  two  con- 
stables who  had  escorted  the  prisoner  withdrew. 

Hunt  proceeded  to  take  charge  of  the  situation. 
He  began  in  a  kindly  manner,  asking  Bailey  to  take 
a  chair,  and  offering  him  a  cigarette.  This  the  un- 
happy man  accepted,  lighting  it  with  visibly  trem- 
bling hands. 

"So  you're  going  to  help  us  clear  this  mystery 
up  ?"  he  asked  pleasantly,  studying  his  man  intently 
the  while. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  was  doing  at  Tot- 
land  Corner  with  the  Bentley,"  replied  the  little  man. 
"You  may  not  believe  it,  but  all  you  are  going  to 
hear  is  the  truth,  the  absolute  truth.  I  can  do  no 
harm  to  anyone  by  speaking  now. 

"If  you  had  not  agreed  to  let  me  see  this  paper" — 
he  touched  his  coat  pocket,  in  which  Hunt  could  see 
something  bulging — "I  should  not  have  sent  for  you. 
I  should  probably  never  have  spoken — and  I  know 
you'll  never  be  able  to  hang  me  on  the  little  evidence 
you've  got." 

He  spoke  the  truth,  and  the  others  knew  it.  The 
evidence  was  purely  circumstantial,  and  no  jury 
would  be  likely  to  convict. 

"It's  going  to  be  a  fairly  long  story,  I'm  afraid, 
but  I'd  better  start  at  the  very  beginning.  I've 
learnt  from  this  paper  that  you  have  found  the  dead 
body  of  an  escaped  convict,  Alfred  Newton.  I  sup- 
pose this  report  is  quite  correct?" 

Hunt  nodded,  puzzled.     "Quite  correct." 

"Well,  then,  before  I  go  any  further  I  might  as 
well  tell  you  that  Alfred  Newton  was  my  brother 
.  .  .  his  real  name,  of  course,  was  Alfred  Bailey!" 

This  announcement  came  as  something  of  a  shock 
to  the  Inspector.  A  totally  unexpected  development. 
He  made  no  comment,  however,  but  produced  a  note- 
book and  pencil,  intending  to  take  the  statement 
down  in  shorthand. 

Bailey  had  paused  for  a  moment,  but,  seeing  the 
Yard  man  was  waiting  for  him,  he  continued:  "I 
was  born  in  a  little  country  town  near  Oxford.  My 
father  was  a  labourer  and,  I'm  afraid,  he  liked  his 
drop  of  booze.  My  brother  Alfred  was  three  years 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  145 

older  than  me — we  had  a  sister  between  us,  but  she 
died  quite  young.  We  were  always  about  together, 
my  brother  and  I,  and  always  up  to  pranks.  Very 
often  we  used  to  get  into  quite  serious  trouble,  my 
brother  especially  so. 

"One  day  I  went  with  another  boy  named  Dick 
Brown  to  raid  an  orchard  not  far  from  the  town. 
We'd  been  in  trouble  there  before — that  only  added 
to  the  fun.  The  farmer  had  carried  on  like  a  mad- 
man the  last  time  he  caught  us  there.  He  said  that 
the  next  time  he  caught  us  he  would  hand  us  straight 
over  to  the  police. 

"Well,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  got  caught  again. 
My  brother  had  apparently  watched  us  creep  into 
the  orchard  and  had  seen  us  captured  by  the  farmer, 
who  took  us  to  an  outhouse  and  locked  us  in  before 
going  off  to  find  a  policeman. 

"Alfred  waited  his  chance  and  tried  to  help  us. 
The  farmer  had  taken  the  key  away  with  him,  so 
he  couldn't  open  the  door.  The  only  other  way  of 
getting  out  was  by  the  window,  but  this  was  set  up 
some  ten  feet  from  the  ground  and  we  had  no  way 
of  reaching  it.  We  were  only  little  fellows,  mind 
you.  I'm  not  very  big  now,  and  I  was  only  eleven 
then.  The  window  business  seemed  too  hard  a  nut 
to  crack,  so  all  we  could  do  was  to  sit  down  and  wait 
for  the  policeman. 

"Then  Alfred  had  a  brain-wave.  He  hunted  in 
the  other  buildings  until  he  found  a  rope.  Looking 
round  further,  he  found  a  long  rake.  Coming  back 
to  the  shed  we  were  locked  up  in,  he  called  out  that 
he  had  a  plan.  We  were  to  get  as  far  away  from 
the  window  as  we  could,  bend  down,  and  cover  our 


146  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

faces.  He  was  going  to  smash  the  window  and  throw 
the  rope  in  to  us.  We  did  as  he  told  us,  and  the 
glass  fell  in  with  a  crash.  .  .  .  But  the  rope  never 
came.  Just  as  Alf  was  a  gettin'  ready  to  chuck  it 
up  he  was  collared  by  the  blinkin'  farmer,  who  had 
got  back  quicker  than  we  expected  he  would  with 
the  copper.  This  smashing  of  the  window  just  about 
put  the  tin  lid  on  things.  We  were  all  three  given 
in  charge. 

"Of  course,  in  those  days  the  magistrates  were 
often  too  severe.  We  came  up  before  a  fairly  lenient 
one.  He  took  the  ages  of  Dick  and  me  into  consid- 
eration and  let  us  off  with  a  good  dressing  down. 
But  he  regarded  Alfred,  who  was  quite  innocent 
really,  as  the  ringleader.  In  spite  of  our  pleadings, 
he  sent  him  to  Borstal.  .  .  . 

"Borstal  wasn't  the  place  then  it  is  in  these  days. 
When  he  came  back  to  us  three  years  later  he  was 
completely  ruined.  He  had  'got  in'  with  the  worst 
of  the  inmates,  and  soon  left  us  again  to  join  his 
new-found  companions  in  Town.  In  a  very  short 
time  he  had  become  a  hardened  little  criminal.  Time 
after  time  he  went  to  prison,  and  every  time  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  mend  his  ways.  I  felt,  you'll  under- 
stand, that  I  was  responsible  for  this  terrible  state 
of  affairs.  I  was,  you'll  agree,  at  the  bottom  of  all 
his  troubles.  .  .  .  And  it  was  up  to  me  to  help  him 
all  I  could. 

"Now,  long  years  in  prison  had  ruined  his  consti- 
tution, and  when  he  was  sentenced  last  time,  and  sent 
down  for  seven  years,  I  guessed  he  would  never  live 
to  serve  his  time.  His  heart,  especially,  was  always 
giving  him  trouble. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  147 

"And  then — to  get  to  recent  events — after  his 
escape  he  found  his  way  to  me  at  Forest  Court.  I 
hid  him  in  my  cottage  for  weeks,  waiting  a  chance 
to  get  him  abroad.  Wouldn't  you  have  done  the 
same?  I  had  only  a  little  money  saved  up,  and  that 
of  course  was  his  for  the  asking — or,  without  it,  for 
that  matter. 

"All  was  going  well  until  one  night  he  met  a  police- 
man when  he  was  walking  alone  in  the  park.  He 
did  a  bolt,  and  the  constable,  thinking  he  was  a 
poacher,  told  Sir  Charles,  who  asked  him  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  place.  For  nights  on  end  this  cop 
kept  watch  in  the  park,  coming  across  to  my  cottage 
for  a  chat  more  often  than  not.  I  believe,  myself, 
that  he  had  an  idea  something  funny  was  going 


on. 

(4 


Then  one  night,  thinking  the  game  was  pretty 
nearly  up,  and  that  I  should  get  into  serious  trouble 
over  the  part  I  was  playing  in  it,  he  took  his  hook. 

"I  had  no  idea  where  he  had  gone,  until,  a  week 
later,  I  had  a  letter  from  him.  I've  torn  it  up  I'm 
afraid — you'll  have  to  take  my  word  for  it.  In  this 
letter  he  asked  if  all  was  clear  at  Forest  Court.  If 
so,  he  wrote,  could  I  pick  him  up  at  3.30  A.M.  on 
Tuesday,  the  23rd  of  May,  at  Totland  Corner.  He 
was  in  difficulties,  he  said;  practically  starving;  and 
he  couldn't  hope  to  hang  out  much  longer.  .  .  . 

"As  I  told  you  at  the  inquest,  Sir  Charles  took 
off  at  3  A.M.  exactly.  I  waited  a  minute  or  so,  in 
case  he  wanted  to  land  again,  before  switching  off 
the  light.  Then,  running  to  the  repair  shop,  I  got 
out  the  Bentley. 

"I  ran  it  down  the  Green  Lane  and  out  on  to  the 


148  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

main  Lymington  road.  I  drove  fairly  fast,  and  I  got 
to  Totland  Corner  at  3.25  A.M.  I'm  sure  of  that 
time — 3.25  to  the  minute. 

"My  brother  was  not  on  the  Corner,  so,  after  wait- 
ing three  or  four  minutes,  I  drove  up  Redstock  Lane 
a  little  way  so  as  to  be  able  to  put  the  lights  out 
for  a  few  minutes,  as  the  last  thing  I  wanted  to  do 
was  attract  attention.  I  went  up  about  fifty  yards 
or  so  before  stopping  and  switching  off  the  lights. 

"As  my  eyes  got  used  to  the  semi-darkness  I  no- 
ticed something  lying  by  the  roadside. 

"Thinking  perhaps  my  brother  had  hurt  himself 
whilst  climbing  over  the  hedge,  or,  more  probably, 
had  had  another  heart-attack,  I  jumped  out  of  the 
car  and  stepped  across  the  lane. 

"I  had  a  flashlight  in  my  pocket. — Finding  it,  I 
turned  it  on.  .  .  . 

"Imagine  my  horror  and  surprise  when  I  found 
myself  gazing  into  the  face  of  a  dead  policeman. 

"And  what  a  face!"  He  shuddered  at  the  mem- 
ory. "All  screwed  up  with  pain — and  the  hot,  red 
blood  still  gushing  out  of  a  gaping  wound  in  the 
forehead." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  to  wipe  off  the  beads 
of  perspiration  that  had  gathered  on  his  face.  He 
was  living  again  the  dreadful  minutes  of  his  dis- 
covery. 

His  very  earnest  manner  convinced  his  listeners 
that  they  had  so  far  heard  the  truth.  And  his  evi- 
dence was  of  vital  importance  to  the  police. 

"Of  course,"  he  continued  shortly,  "I  jumped  back 
into  the  car,  and  started  up.  This  was  a  nice  mess 
to  be  in.  What  was  I  to  do? 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  149 

"I  guessed  at  once  that  my  brother  had  somehow 
got  hold  of  a  revolver,  and  had  been  stopped  by  the 
policeman  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  meet  me  on  the 
Corner.  I  knew  that  he  was  desperate;  that  if  he 
thought  he  could  get  away  with  it  he  would  have  no 
hesitation  in  shooting  an  enemy  down  in  cold  blood. 

"It  stood  to  reason  that  I  couldn't  take  him  to  the 
cottage  after  this.  I  had  no  wish  to  become  an  ac- 
cessory after  the  fact  by  hiding  a  murderer  from 
justice,  though,  of  course,  I  was  still  prepared  to 
help  him  in  any  other  way  I  could. 

"To  avoid  turning  the  car  by  the  body,  I  carried 
on  up  the  lane  through  Redstock,  returning  that 
way  home. 

"Of  course,  you  know  the  rest,  Inspector." 


XIV 

THE  CHIEF  CONSTABLE  SOLVES  A 
MYSTERY 

So  this  cleared  up  the  mystery  of  the  car-tracks. 
But,  instead  of  throwing  light  on  the  whereabouts 
of  the  murderer,  it  left  the  police  more  in  the  dark 
than  ever. 

Reaching  over,  Hunt  pressed  a  bell-button  in  the 
wall.  A  constable  answered  the  summons. 

"Take  the  prisoner  out,"  the  Inspector  ordered, 
"but  keep  him  near  at  hand.  We  may  want  him 
again  in  a  few  minutes." 

Left  to  themselves,  none  of  the  three  spoke  for 
some  considerable  time.  Each  was  deep  in  thought 
— attempting  to  reconstruct  the  case  now  so  much 
of  it  had  seemingly  collapsed. 

It  was  Major  Williams  who  first  broke  the  silence. 
"Everything  points  to  the  man  Newton  being  the 
murderer  of  my  constable  after  all,"  he  said.  "Even 
his  brother  admits  that  he  was  due  at  Totland  Cor- 
ner at  3.30  A.M.,  the  scene  and  approximate  time  of 
the  crime." 

He  paused,  then,  more  slowly  and  thoughtfully, 
selecting  a  cigarette  from  his  case  the  while: 

"I'm  now  rather  inclined  to  think  that  he  didn't 
throw  his  boots  away,  but  I  feel  certain  that  we  shall 
find  the  weapon  sooner  or  later.  I'm  glad  I  left  the 

men  to  drag  the  pond,  in  spite  of  the  upsetting  of 

150 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  151 

my  theory  by  the  finding  of  all  those  boots  in  the 
dell." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Hunt,  "Newton  appears  the  ob- 
vious suspect  at  a  first  glance.  But  is  he? — Let's 
think  it  out.  .  .  . 

"The  fact  that  he  has  been  hiding  on  Sir  Charles' 
estate  in  some  ways  helps,  and  in  other  ways  com- 
plicates, matters.  Even  if  we  can  prove  that  Sir 
Charles  did  land  in  Angels  Meadow,  and  so  give 
Newton  the  opportunity  to  commit  the  double  mur- 
der, it  doesn't  explain  how  Sir  Charles'  'plane  came 
to  crash  on  the  Head. 

"Now,  with  Evans  doing  both  the  murders,  and 
both  at  Totland  Corner,"  he  ruminated,  "this  last 
difficulty  disappears — for  Evans,  with  his  knowledge 
of  flying,  would  be  able  to  start  off  Sir  Charles' 
'plane  with  the  dead  body  in  the  cockpit. 

"I  doubt  if  Newton  had  this  knowledge — I'll  in- 
quire presently — but  even  if  he  had,  we  have  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Evans  to  account  for.  .  .  .  It's 
hardly  likely  that  she  would  stand  by  and  see  her 
best  friend  shot. 

"No! — Bringing  Newton  into  it  involves,  I  think, 
a  triple  murder.  To  make  any  sense  at  all  he  would 
have  had  to  shoot  Mrs.  Evans  also.  What  the  mo- 
tive for  this  supposed  wholesale  slaying  could  have 
been,  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  imagine. 

"Of  course,  if  he  did  kill  all  three,  I  grant  you 
Mrs.  Evans'  body  might  quite  conceivably  have 
fallen  from  the  'plane,  as  has  been  suggested,  into 
Christchurch  Harbour.  .  .  .  But  to  add  to  these 
rather  far-fetched  suggestions,  to  make  our  case 
against  Newton  complete,  we  must  believe  Dennis 


152  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Evans  also  has  met  with  disaster  in  some  way  or 
other.  He  has  not  been  heard  of  for  over  thirty- 
six  hours,  and,  if  he  is  still  alive  and  innocent  of 
conspiracy,  why  is  he  in  hiding?" 

"This  certainly  is  a  staggering  case,  an  amazing 
tangle  of  probable  and  improbable  theories,"  re- 
marked the  Superintendent.  "We  build  up  theory 
after  theory  and  the  Inspector  picks  holes  in  them 
all — almost  before  the  words  have  had  time  to  cool 
out  of  our  mouths."  Then,  seeing  the  others  were 
deep  in  thought,  he  lapsed  into  silence. 

But  the  Chief  Constable  still  stuck  to  his  guns. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'll  grant  you  the  case 
against  Newton — alone — has  broken  down — but  for 
one  thing.  I  still  do  not  agree  that  both  murders 
were  committed  with  the  same  weapon.  So  in  one 
theory  I  still  say  Newton  alone. 

"Now,  in  my  other,  I'll  fall  in  with  your  theory 
that  both  crimes  were  committed  with  the  one 
weapon.  What's  wrong  with  this  for  a  working 
hypothesis?  .  .  . 

"For  some  reason  at  present  unknown  to  us,  the 
Evanses  plotted  to  murder  Sir  Charles,  but  decided 
to  call  in  outside  help — as  it  happens,  the  choice  fell 
on  Newton.  Why  it  fell  on  Newton,  we  may  find 
out  later,  but  it's  not  impossible  to  imagine  that  they 
had  good  reasons  for  their  choice — or  even  that  they 
had  Newton  in  their  power." 

"No,"  replied  Hunt,  "we'll  agree  that's  not  un- 
reasonable. Carry  on." 

"Good.  Now  to  continue.  Young  Evans  has 
made  arrangements  to  retire  to  some  predetermined 
place,  where  Mrs.  Evans  will  join  him  after  the  crime 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  153 

has  been  committed.  As  his  'plane  has  disappeared, 
it's  probable  that  it's  a  yacht  at  sea.  .  .  .  He  could 
alight  on  the  water  by  it  and  his  'plane  would  soon 
be  lost  beneath  the  waves.  Mrs.  Evans,  by  some 
pretext,  persuades  Sir  Charles  to  make  a  landing  in 
Angels. 

"As  soon  as  they  are  down,  or  perhaps  after  they 
have  turned  the  'plane  round  ready  to  take  off  again, 
the  convict  Newton  appears,  and  shoots  Sir  Charles 
through  the  back  of  the  head.  .  .  . 

"Now  we  can  get  over  the  difficulty  of  Newton 
restarting  the  'plane.  He  doesn't! — Mrs.  Evans 
does  it  herself.  You'll  agree  now,  Inspector,  that 
this  shows  a  way  of  getting  over  the  mystery  of  the 
disappearance  of  Mrs.  Evans'  body?" 

"Yes,  most  effectively,  sir.  And  then  what?" 
queried  the  really  interested  Hunt. 

The  Chief  Constable  resumed.  "Waiting  on  the 
main  road  at  Totland  Corner  is  a  car.  .  .  .  After 
seeing  the  'Moth'  off  on  its  strange  journey,  they 
cross  the  meadow  to  it.  Just  by  the  hedge  the  two 
are  challenged  by  Constable  James. — You  know  the 
rest.  Newton  draws  his  gun,  and  a  second  cruel 
murder  is  committed  in  that  peaceful  country  lane. 

"And  then,  down  to  the  road.  The  accomplice 
drives  off  with  Mrs.  Evans.  The  murderer,  for  some 
reason,  is  prepared  to  remain  behind — and,  I  think, 
the  mystery  is  complete." 

Walker,  who  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  a  vital 
piece  of  evidence  that  was  contradictory  to  the 
theory,  was  inclined  to  be  impressed. 

"And  this  other  accomplice — have  you  formed  any 
opinion  as  to  who  he  might  be?"  he  asked  eagerly, 


154  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

a   suspicion  beginning  to  take   form   in  his   mind. 

And  the  Chief  Constable's  reply,  "I  have  a  shrewd 
idea  it  was  our  intoxicated  Mr.  Day — but  not  so  in- 
capable as  the  others  imagined,"  was  what  he  had 
half  expected  to  hear. 

The  Superintendent  sat  deep  in  thought  for  fully 
a  minute.  Then  he  put  his  second  question.  "But, 
according  to  Sturman's  evidence,  Day  did  not  leave 
the  house  until  after  the  'planes  had  taken  off.  If 
you  are  relying  on  the  lights  of  his  car  being  used 
to  aid  Sir  Charles,  how  do  you  make  the  Rolls  arrive 
at  the  Corner  in  time?  It  could  never  keep  up  with, 
let  alone  beat,  the  'Moth'  on  a  cross-country  trip 
like  this." 

"Oh,  that's  simple,  Superintendent.  He  didn't 
use  the  car  lights  to  land  by.  He  dropped  a  mag- 
nesium flare." 

It  was  left  for  Hunt  to  fall  into  the  trap  the  Chief 
Constable  had  so  cunningly  laid. 

"Can  you  find  a  flaw  this  time,  Inspector?"  Major 
Williams  inquired. 

Hunt  smiled  good-naturedly.  "I  must  apologise 
again,  sir,  for  my  contrariness,"  he  said,  "but  I'm 
afraid  I  can." 

"And  this  time?" 

"Quite  a  glaring  mistake.  You  say  that  Newton 
and  Mrs.  Evans  walked  over  to  the  hedge  by  which 
the  constable's  body  lay  from  the  spot  where  the 
'planes  had  turned  to  take  off. 

"Now,  as  the  wind  was  blowing  from  a  southwest- 
erly direction,  the  'Moth,'  in  order  to  take  off  against 
it,  would  commence  its  run  in  the  northeast  corner 
of  the  meadow.  That  is,  of  course,  from  the  corner 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  155 

nearest  to  where  the  dead  convict's  body  was  found 
in  the  hut. 

"To  walk  from  there  to  the  hedge  they  would  have 
to  walk  diagonally  almost  the  whole  length  of  the 
pasture — 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  the  Chief  Constable,  as 
though  to  give  him  a  chance  to  see  for  himself  the 
error  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

But  the  latter  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  op- 
portunity. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  he  innocently 
asked.  "That's  just  the  way  I  thought  they  came." 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world,"  replied  Hunt 
quickly.  "They  couldn't  have  walked — there  was 
only  one  set  of  footprints" 

"No,"  said  the  Chief  Constable  quietly.  "That's 
just  it.  They  didn't  walk! — I  never  said  they  did. 
She  famted,  and  he  carried  her  all  the  way." 

"Carried  her?"  echoed  Hunt.  "Of  course.  That's 
the  explanation  I've  been  looking  for.  Well,"  he 
added  laughingly,  "you've  certainly  shown  me  up 
this  time,  sir." 

"And  so  you  find  no  fault,  Inspector  ?" 

"No!  I  can't  see  any  harm  in  us  working  on 
those  lines.  It's  the  best  bit  of  reasoning  we've  had 
so  far.  .  .  .  There's  only  one  feature  I  dislike  about 
it — there  seem  too  many  in  the  plot!  Just  count 
them  up.  Young  Evans,  his  wife,  Newton,  Day,  and 
the  crew  of  the  yacht — then  possibly  an  intermediary 
between  Newton  and  the  Evanses." 

Before  the  Chief  Constable  could  comment  on  this, 
a  constable  knocked  at  the  door. 


156  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Come  in!"  rapped  out  Walker  in  a  businesslike 
manner. 

As  the  man  walked  across  the  room  they  could  see 
that  he  held  an  envelope  in  his  hand. 

"With  Sergeant  Smith's  compliments,"  he  said, 
passing  the  missive  over  to  Hunt.  "It  has  just  come 
in  over  the  'phone." 

He  withdrew  quietly  as  Hunt  ran  his  finger  under 
the  still  moist  flap. 

Inside  was  a  single  sheet  of  paper,  addressed  to 
him,  marked,  "Received  by  'phone,  Armoury  De- 
partment, New  Scotland  Yard." 

The  message  was  brief  but  emphatic. 

"Both  bullets  submitted  .22  calibre.     Both  un- 
doubtedly fired  same  barrel." 

With  a  grin  of  satisfaction  the  Inspector  passed 
the  sheet  over  to  Major  Williams. 

"We  shall  have  to  work  on  my  second  theory  in 
any  case  after  this,"  the  Chief  Constable  remarked. 
"It  entirely  disproves  my  first." 

He  passed  the  message  on  to  Walker  and  turned 
back  to  Hunt.  "What's  to  happen  to  Bailey — are 
we  justified  in  keeping  him  in  custody  a  little 
longer?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  should  say  we  are  justified — but  I 
doubt  if  it  is  necessary.  I  think  we've  got  the  truth, 
and  he's  not  likely  to  bolt  now,  so  we  shall  be  able 
to  get  in  touch  with  him  easily  should  we  want  him. 
.  .  .  He'll  have  to  appear  in  court  again.  I  sup- 
pose you  can  fix  the  question  of  bail  quite  easily?" 

"Oh,  yes.     That  can  no  doubt  be  arranged." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  157 

"In  that  case,  let's  have  him  in.  A  few  more  ques- 
tions won't  hurt  him,  and  if  the  replies  are  satisfac- 
tory he'll  soon  be  free  to  go." 

It  was  a  much  brighter  man  who  came  to  them 
now.  He  guessed  that  the  end  of  this  interview  would 
see  him  virtually  a  free  man. 

Hunt  again  took  up  the  questioning.  "Now  about 
your  brother,"  he  began.  "Had  he  by  any  chance 
any  knowledge  of  aircraft?" 

The  answer  was  what  he  had  expected.  "No! 
No  knowledge  of  flying  at  all;  he  was  a  compositor 
when  he  was  in  a  job." 

"And  now  one  other  important  question — did  your 
brother  ever  meet  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Evans?" 

"No,  not  to  my  knowledge.  In  fact,  I  think  I  can 
say,  definitely,  no." 

A  few  more  questions  of  similar  reckoning  failed 
to  shake  the  man's  denials,  so  Hunt  turned  again  to 
the  evidence  given  by  the  mechanic  at  the  inquest. 

Again  the  prisoner  was  adamant.  His  answers  to 
questions  dealing  with  the  start  of  the  flight  never 
varied  from  the  original  ones  in  the  slightest  degree. 

At  last,  seeing  that  he  was  only  wasting  time  by 
persisting,  Hunt  told  the  man  he  would  be  free  to 
go  as  soon  as  the  necessary  formalities  had  been  com- 
plied with.  Whether  the  Chief  Constable  intended 
to  prosecute  him  later  on  another  charge  he  was  not 
in  a  position  to  state,  he  added,  as  the  constable  who 
had  been  summoned  escorted  him  out. 

"Going  back  to  the  subject  under  discussion  be- 
fore my  constable  disturbed  us  with  your  message," 
started  the  Chief  Constable.  "If  you  think  there 
were  too  many  in  the  plot  for  my  theory  to  be  cor- 


158  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

rect,  and  yet  still  think  my  line  of  reasoning  to  be 
the  right  one,  how  do  you  reconcile  your  two  state- 
ments ?" 

Hunt  was  toying  with  a  pen  on  the  desk  before 
him.  After  a  moment  he  replied: 

"I  think  Evans  was  undoubtedly  the  murderer! 
Until  just  now  I  was  puzzled  as  to  how  he  could  have 
been,  but  I'm  beginning  to  see  daylight.  .  .  .  This, 
broadly  speaking,  is  my  theory : 

"The  'planes  started  from  Forest  Court  as  Bailey 
said — Sir  Charles  and  Mrs.  Evans  in  the  'Moth'  and 
Dennis  Evans  alone  in  his  little  white  monoplane. 

"Dennis  Evans  took  off  first,  you'll  remember.  I 
suggest  he  kept  the  lead  until  he  was  over  Angels, 
where  he  feigned  engine  trouble.  Dropping  a  flare, 
he  glided  to  earth. 

"Sir  Charles,  seeing  his  friend  in  trouble,  landed 
to  help  him.  .  .  .  Once  on  the  ground,  I  think, 
Evans  ran  his  'plane  back  up  the  field,  turning  again 
for  the  take-off  in  the  north-east  corner.  Sir  Charles 
probably  did  the  same  with  the  'Moth' ! 

"Then,  before  Sir  Charles  could  get  out  of  his 
'plane,  Evans  came  over  and  fired  the  fatal  shot. 

"Next,  he  would  have  started  his  own  'plane  off 
empty,  and  a  little  later  the  'Moth'  would  have  been 
made  to  follow  suit — carrying,  of  course,  the  body 
of  Sir  Charles. 

"I've  made  inquiries  and  ascertained  that  both  the 
'Moth'  and  Evans'  little  monoplane  are  so  easy  to 
handle  that,  given  suitable  conditions,  they  would 
take  off  unpiloted  when  their  lowest  flying  speed  was 
reached. 

"As  you  realise,  they  had  more  than  enough  room 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  159 

to  reach  their  flying-speed  in  Angels,  and  I  think 
we  can  say  quite  safely  that  the  conditions  were  suit- 
able. 

"The  unforeseen  misadventure  of  the  'Moth' 
catching  fire  was,  of  course,  a  serious  matter  for 
the  Evanses.  Had  all  gone  well,  the  'planes  would 
have  both  gone  down  in  the  sea,  probably  hundreds 
of  miles  from  land,  and  sunk  without  leaving  a  trace. 

"Everyone  would  have  thought  that  the  three  of 
them  had  met  with  disaster  through  their  folly  in 
flying  over  the  sea  in  the  darkness  of  the  early  morn- 
ing. 

"Xo  suspicion  of  what  had  really  taken  place 
would  have  been  in  anybody's  mind — excepting,  of 
course,  the  accomplice  waiting  at  Totland  Corner. 

"The  difficulty  of  there  being  only  one  set  of  foot- 
prints is  explained  satisfactorily  now.  Evans  car- 
ried his  wife. 

"The  only  snag  that  I  can  see  is  this — can  we  con- 
nect Day  definitely  with  the  case?  If  not,  we've  got 
to  find  the  unknown  who  was  waiting  with  the  car. 
And  if  it  wasn't  Day,  who  was  it? 

"The  constable,"  he  added,  "was  killed  because 
he  had  seen  too  much.  In  all  probability  Evans  knew 
the  policeman  by  sight,  and  guessed  that  he  himself 
was  known  to  the  constable  by  name. 

"This  shooting  did  not  complicate  matters  though, 
as  they  had  left  no  clue,  and,  were  it  not  for  the  dis- 
covery of  the  bullet  in  Sir  Charles'  remains,  no  one 
would  have  connected  the  two  tragedies. 

"Then  to  add  more  mystery  to  an  already  mys- 
terious affair,  I'm  afraid  the  cows  churned  up  the 
corner  of  the  meadow  where  Evans  walked  backwards 


160  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

and  forwards  in  sending  off  the  unpiloted  'planes, 
and  so  destroyed  all  traces." 

"That's  more  like  it,  Inspector,"  agreed  the  Chief 
Constable  enthusiastically.  "You  don't  need  half 
the  number  of  people  in  your  theory,  and,  after  hear- 
ing it,  I'm  afraid  mine  must  have  sounded  a  bit  thin. 

"It's  obvious  that  the  most  important  thing  to  do 
now  is  trace  this  car  they  used.  It  would  be  the  one 
I  crossed  off  my  list  as  out  of  the  case,  as  its  tracks 
were  overrun  by  those  of  the  Bentley.  .  .  .  The 
other  few  tracks,  you'll  remember,  were  all  accounted 
for." 

Hunt  looked  across  at  the  Chief  Constable  rather 
shamefacedly.  "After  all  my  experience  of  police 
work,  I  feel  I  ought  to  be  kicked,"  he  admitted.  "I 
didn't  trouble  myself  over  those  tracks  at  all — and 
I  have  only  the  haziest  recollection  of  them.  I  be- 
lieve I  observed  they  were  made  by  a  fairly  large  car, 
but  I'm  not  even  sure  of  that." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Chief  Constable  cheer- 
fully. "We're  companions  in  crime.  I  didn't  worry 
about  them  either.  .  .  .  We  shall  have  to  get  on 
without  them." 

Just  then  a  car  drew  up  outside  the  station.  Rec- 
ognising the  driver,  a  Poole  police  inspector,  the  Su- 
perintendent excused  himself  and  left  the  room. 

In  less  than  a  minute  he  was  back  again.  Pop- 
ping his  head  just  round  the  door,  he  exclaimed  ex- 
citedly, "Sensation  follows  sensation,  it's  news  of 
Evans!  I'll  show  the  skipper  in." 


XV 
PRO  PATRIA 

ABOUT  the  time  that  "the  skipper"  was  being  ushered 
into  the  little  room  at  Bournemouth,  where  the  Chief 
Constable  and  Hunt  were  seated,  the  telephone  bell 
on  the  desk  of  Detective  Inspector  Whitfield  of  the 
C.I.D.  began  to  ring  violently. 

Putting  down  the  pen  with  which  he  was  prepar- 
ing a  report  with  meticulous  care,  the  Inspector 
picked  up  the  receiver. 

The  call  was  from  Sir  James  Spreadbury,  the 
Chief  Commissioner. 

Whitfield's  presence  was,  he  learned,  required  im- 
mediately. 

Blotting  his  report  carefully,  he  folded  it  up  and 
locked  it  away  in  his  desk.  This  interesting  docu- 
ment showed  the  result  of  three  months'  labour  ex- 
pended in  the  search  for  the  ringleaders  of  the  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road  dope  gang.  And  this  record,  as 
Whitfield  himself  would  have  been  the  first  to  admit, 
did  not  show  the  amount  of  progress  the  police  de- 
sired. 

Sir  James,  a  prematurely  grey  but  otherwise 
youngish-looking  man  of  splendid  physique,  was 
wearing  an  extremely  puzzled  expression  when  the 
Inspector  knocked  at  his  door,  before  many  minutes 

had  elapsed. 

161 


162  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Take  a  seat,  Inspector,"  he  began,  in  his  cultured 
manner.  "I  want  a  little  talk  with  you.  How  much 
more  progress  have  you  made  with  this  dope  case?" 

Whitfield  considered  for  a  moment  before  reply- 
ing. "Candidly,  sir,  I  can't  say  that  we've  got  any 
farther  at  all,"  he  said  at  length.  "In  fact,  I'm 
afraid  we're  rather  worse  off  than  we  were  when  last 
I  reported.  From  confidential  reports  that  we've  re- 
ceived, it  appears  that  the  Tottenham  Court  Road 
gang  are  doing  more  business  than  ever. 

"Of  course  that's  only  to  be  expected.  With  the 
Chelsea  gang  practically  wiped  out  of  existence,  the 
trade  is  bound  to  pass  to  Gascoigne's  crush." 

"So  you  still  think  that  Gascoigne  is  one  of  the 
ringleaders?"  inquired  the  Chief  Commissioner,  with 
something  of  a  smile  playing  about  his  lips. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  sir.  Everywhere  we  go  we  run 
up  against  the  man.  He's  been  seen  in  the  company 
of  Schwartz  a  couple  of  times  lately,  and,  as  you 
know,  we  have  enough  evidence  to  put  Schwartz  away 
for  some  years  any  tune  we  want  to  use  it.  But,  as 
you  agree,  it  suits  our  purpose  to  let  Schwartz  go 
free.  He  is  more  likely  to  lead  us  eventually  to  'the 
boss'  than  any  other  man  we  know. 

"Then  take  Barnes.  Any  time  we  want  to  pull 
him  in  I'll  guarantee  we  should  find  the  stuff  on  him. 
What  does  Gascoigne  want  with  a  man  of  Barnes' 
reputation  ? 

"Before  he  got  in  with  the  Court  Road  gang,  what 
was  he?  A  little  sneak-thief  down  by  the  docks. 
And  look  at  him  now,  dining  at  the  Frivolity  more 
evenings  than  not  and  running  a  Rolls  with  a  liveried 
chauffeur. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  163 

"But  that's  not  all.  I  could  name  a  dozen  more, 
both  known  and  suspected  members  of  the  gang — 
and  Gascoigne  knows  them — every  one." 

"Yes,"  commented  the  Chief.  "He  certainly  mixes 
with  a  deuced  funny  crowd — but  that  in  itself 's  not 
a  sin.  What  do  you  know  of  him  otherwise?" 

"Not  a  lot,"  admitted  the  Inspector.  "In  spite 
of  the  most  exhaustive  inquiries,  his  past  remains 
wrapped  in  mystery.  .  .  .  He  seems  to  have  plenty 
of  money,  and  is  a  member  of  two  otherwise  respect- 
able clubs. 

"His  latest  flame  is  Marianne  Barlow,  the  leading 
lady  of  Rags  and  Tatters,  Merryweather's  new  show, 
but  there  my  information  ends. 

"If  only  we  had  the  help  of  'Pro  Patria,'"  la- 
mented the  Inspector,  "this  gang  would  soon  go  the 
way  of  the  Chelsea  lot.  Why  ever  he  concentrates 
on  the  one  gang  I  cannot  imagine. 

"A  score  of  letters  we  must  have  had  from  him, 
and  in  every  case  his  information  has  been  proved 
correct.  A  man  with  his  knowledge  of  the  under- 
world must  have  got  a  line  on  the  Court  Road  crowd. 
I'm  half  inclined  to  think  he  must  be  working  for 
them  himself.  The  demand  for  dope  will  still  go  on, 
and  unless  he  helps  us  stamp  out  everybody  in  the 
game  he's  not  really  doing  half  the  good  he  imagines 
he  is." 

"Have  you  never  stopped  to  consider  who  'Pro 
Patria'  might  be?"  asked  Sir  James  quietly. 

"No,"  said  the  surprised  Inspector.  "I  can't  say 
I've  given  the  matter  much  thought.  To  my  mind, 
it  seems  better  to  act  on  his  advice  without  question ; 


164  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

he's  never  let  us  down  yet.  If  we  start  a  hunt  for 
him,  we'll  only  defeat  our  own  ends  by  putting  him 
on  his  guard." 

The  Chief  Commissioner  was  fumbling  in  a 
drawer.  Presently  he  withdrew  an  envelope,  the 
familiar  colour  and  size  of  which  told  Whitfield  at 
a  glance  the  sender. 

"Well,  if  we  had  decided  to  search  for  'Pro  Patria,' 
this  letter  would  have  saved  us  the  trouble,"  the  Chief 
declared,  passing  the  missive  over  to  the  Inspector. 

Whitfield  studied  the  envelope  carefully  before 
withdrawing  the  contents. 

It  bore  all  the  usual  characteristics  of  a  "Pro 
Patria"  letter.  The  typewritten  address  was  to  the 
Chief  Commissioner  himself,  and  the  envelope  was 
marked  "Personal." 

The  blurred  I's  showed  the  same  faulty  typewriter 
had  been  used  as  on  all  other  occasions,  while  the 
postmark  showed  the  letter  to  have  been  posted  in 
the  Hammersmith  area  that  morning. 

His  scrutiny  finished,  the  Inspector  withdrew  the 
enclosed  sheet.  He  saw  at  once  that  the  message  was 
longer  than  usual. 

"DEAR  SIR  JAMES,"  he  read,  "You  will  agree 
that  with  the  help  of  my  information  you  have 
successfully  cleaned  up  the  Chelsea  gang  of  dope 
traffickers. 

"There  is,  however,  as  I  have  no  doubt  you  are 
well  aware,  an  even  more  powerful  gang  operating 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Tottenham  Court  Road. 

"My  investigations  against  this  gang  have  been 
of  a  somewhat  different  nature,  and  I  am  glad  to 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  165 

be  able  to  say  that  I  have  information  of  the  great- 
est value. 

"If,  therefore,  you  would  make  it  convenient  for 
you  personally  to  see  me,  I  propose  calling  at  the 
Yard  to-morrow  morning  at  11,  when  I  will  place 
such  information  as  I  have  in  your  hands.  This 
will  include  the  name  of  'the  boss'  and  several  lesser 
members  of  the  gang. 

"Assuring  you  there  can  be  no  possibility  of  a 
mistake — " 

And  here  the  good  man's  eyes  nearly  popped  out 
of  his  head,  for  underneath  the  typewritten  "Pro 
PATRIA"  was  scrawled  a  signature — and  the  signa- 
ture was  that  of  Claude  Gascoigne. 


XVI 
DEVELOPMENTS 

"THE  skipper"  proved  to  be  an  elderly-looking  man 
wearing  a  ragged  blue  jersey  and  rubber  thigh- 
boots.  He  carried  an  old,  greasy  yachting  cap, 
which  he  twirled  nervously  in  his  hands,  and  as  he 
bid  the  Chief  Constable  (whom  he  evidently  recog- 
nised) good  evening,  Hunt  could  see  his  teeth  were 
uneven  and  tobacco-stained. 

"Captain  Matthews  has  news  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance for  us,"  the  Superintendent  declared.  "He 
happened  to  be  fishing  out  beyond  his  usual  limits 
or  he  would  not  have  seen  what  he  did.  .  .  .  But 
he'd  best  tell  you  the  story  with  his  own  lips.  Take 
a  seat,  captain — and  help  yourself  to  a  cigarette," 
he  added,  pushing  the  box  over  to  him. 

The  old  mariner  accepted  the  offer  of  a  smoke, 
and,  after  lighting  the  cigarette,  sat  back  in  his 
chair,  his  uneasiness  fast  disappearing. 

"This  is  Inspector  Hunt  of  Scotland  Yard," 
said  the  Chief  Constable,  introducing  the  detective. 
"You  can  tell  your  story  without  letting  his  pres- 
ence upset  you.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  in  charge 
of  the  case." 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  the  fisherman.  "What 
I've  got  to  say  can  be  said  afore  anywun;  it  can't 
harm  nobody ! 

"My  name,  as  Inspector  'Aydon  from  Poole,  'im 

166 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  167 

what  brought  me  'ere,  will  tell  you,  is  Joe  Matthews. 
I'm  skipper  of  the  Kathleen  Norris.  She's  a  little 
thirty-foot  fishin'-smack,  as  nice  a  tub  as  ever  sailed 
out  uf  Poole  'Arbour. 

"My  crew  is  y'ung  Jim  Brown  an'  'Arry  Bow- 
man, but  they  'ad  ter  stop  an'  'ang  the  nets  out.  I 
ought  ter  be  there  'elpin'  'em  by  all  rights,  but  when 
I  'appens  ter  tell  P.C.  Coggins  what  we'd  see'd  'e 
'urries  me  off  ter  the  police  stashun  ter  see  Inspec- 
tor 'Ay don,  'oo  sez,  'Yer  must  cum  with  me  ter 
Bournemouth  an'  let  'em  know  about  it  up  there !' ' 

After  a  slight  pause,  he  began  the  story  proper: 

"It  'appens  as  we  wuz  tryin'  fur  new  fishin'- 
grounds  well  out  uf  the  bay.  We  left  Poole  about 
three  o'clock  on  Monday  arternoon. 

"We  kept  the  sails  up  an'  used  our  little  motur 
as  well,  as  we  wanted  ter  get  as  fur  out  as  possible 
by  dark. 

"We  finally  fetched  up  at  a  spot  about  fifty  mile 
out  in  the  Channel;  a  few  mile  west  uf  Swanage  as 
near  as  I  can  say. 

"We  'adn't  bin  this  fur  out  afore,  but  we  'ad 
'eard  it  sed  that  there  wus  a  'ole  in  the  sea-bed  there, 
if  anywun  cud  strike  it,  which  wus  full  uf  fish. 

"We  didn't  'ave  no  luck  at  furst.  Time  an  agen 
we  dropped  our  nets,  but  we  didn't  ketch  no  fish 
until,  just  as  day  wus  breakin',  we  got  among  'em. 

"We  wus  busy  'aulin'  in  about  four  o'clock  when 
we  'card  the  'um  of  an  airyplane. 

"Thinkin*  it  wur  funny  ter  'ear  wun  so  fur  out 
at  sea  an'  at  sich  an  early  'our,  we  all  on  us  looked 
roune  ter  see  where  the  noise  wur  comin'  from. 


168  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"We  saw  the  machin'  at  wunce — it  wur  a  good 
way  orf,  coming  out  from  the  land. 

"Then,  as  we  watched,  all  uf  a  sudden  'is  engine 
spluttered  an'  stopped.  But  the  airyplane  still  kept 
cumin'  on.  A  little  white  single-winged  un,  it  wur. 

"Straight  at  us  it  come,  gittin'  lower  an'  lower, 
till  we  made  sure  it  'ud  be  on  top  of  us. — So  it  wud 
'ave  bin  tew,  only  it  dropped  short.  .  .  .  About  fifty 
yards  away  frum  us  it  'it  the  water  an'  started  goin' 
downe  slowly  straight  away. 

"We  'ad  ter  finish  pullin'  in  the  nets,  but  that 
didn't  take  long,  an'  in  a  very  short  time  we  turned 
the  Kathleen  N orris  about  an'  ran  alon'side. 

"We  knew  the  airmun  couldn't  'ave  bin  'urt  as  it 
only  dropped  gently  into  the  sea.  To  our  'orror, 
tho',  there  weren't  nobody  in  it!  .  .  . 

"The  part  where  'e  sat  'adn't  sunk  yet,  but  it  wur 
empty,  we  could  see. 

"Anyhow,  ter  make  sure  I  stood  up  in  the  boat 
an'  looked  right  down  ter  the  bottom  uf  ther — 
ther — "  He  searched  for  a  word. 

"Cockpit,"  suggested  Hunt. 

"Yes,  cockpit,  I  believe  that's  what  you  calls  it. 
Anyway,  it  weren't  no  good.  There  weren't  nobody 
in  it. 

"We  waited  by  a  good  'our  ter  see  if  'is  body  wud 
cum  floating  up,  but  no.  He  weren't  never  in  it 
when  it  'it  the  sea." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  and  produced  a  grimy  piece 
of  paper.  "Jim  Brown,  he  writ  this  downe  fur  yer — 
it's  the  readin'  un  the  wings.  I  b'aint  no  scholar, 
so  I  doant  know  what  it  means." 

Hunt    took   the   paper   from   him.      He    saw    at 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  169 

once  that  it  was  the  registration  number  of  the 
'plane.  In  a  bold,  copperplate  hand  were  pencilled 
the  mystic  letters  GE — EXXGF,  and  the  number 
870/0076591. 

With  a  sense  of  elation,  Hunt  realised  that  these 
signs  would  prove  beyond  doubt  whether  the  'plane 
was  Evans'  or  not.  If,  as  he  himself  felt  certain, 
it  was,  the  fact  that  it  had  come  down  empty  seemed 
to  prove  his  latest  theory  to  be  correct.  The  police 
would  be  justified  in  applying  for  a  warrant  for 
Evans'  arrest  without  waiting  for  further  evidence. 

"I'll  keep  this,  if  I  may,"  he  said,  pocketing  the 
document.  "It's  a  most  valuable  piece  of  evidence. 
And  now,  gentlemen,  don't  you  think  that  we  have 
earned  a  drink?  Let's  all  take  a  walk  across  to  the 
'Crown.'  " 

The  others  agreed  that  this  was  a  jolly  good  idea, 
and  the  entire  party  proceeded  to  the  hotel,  where 
they  found  the  Inspector  from  Poole  already  in- 
stalled. 

Then,  after  a  couple  of  drinks  apiece,  the  gather- 
ing dispersed,  Hunt  to  drive  back  to  his  sister's  at 
Southbourne,  and  the  Chief  Constable  and  Superin- 
tendent to  complete  the  formalities  that  would  en- 
able Bailey  to  secure  his  release. 

The  next  morning  again  saw  the  indefatigable 
Hunt  up  betimes.  After  a  brisk  walk  along  the 
sands  by  a  sea  as  calm  as  a  mill-pond,  he  returned 
to  eat  a  hearty  breakfast  before  going  on  to  Bourne- 
mouth to  begin  the  serious  work  of  the  day. 

The   Superintendent,  he  found,  was   already  at 


170  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

work  in  his  office,  but  the  Chief  Constable  had  not 
yet  put  in  an  appearance. 

Walker  greeted  him  warmly.  "Still  no  news  of 
importance,  no  trace  of  Evans  or  his  wife — and,  as 
I've  heard  nothing  from  Forest  Court,  I  presume 
the  vanished  Sir  Henry  Sandleson  has  not  done  a 
spectacular  reappearing  trick." 

"Too  bad,"  murmured  Hunt,  "but  we  can't  expect 
jam  on  it  every  time — and,  I  think,  we  really  did  do 
a  good  day's  work  yesterday." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  we  did;  we  certainly  werQ  busy 
enough,"  admitted  the  Superintendent.  "But  still," 
he  added,  "we've  got  to  do  better  or  we  shall  soon 
have  the  newspapers  on  our  track.  They're  full  of 
the  case  this  morning.  'The  "Moth"  Murder  Mys- 
tery,' they  call  it,  and  a  good  name  too — but  I  think, 
if  we  have  our  fair  share  of  luck,  they'll  soon  be  able 
to  cut  the  mystery  part  out  of  it." 

"I  hope  so,"  echoed  Hunt,  "and  7  think  so  too. 
Did  you  arrange  to  get  the  warrant  this  morning?" 

"Yes.  I  hope  to  get  it  signed  straight  away.  A 
doctor  J.P.  is  calling  in  on  his  way  by.  Now,  there's 
one  minor  matter  to  which  my  attention  has  been 
drawn.  It  may  have  something  to  do  with  our  case, 
and  it  may  not.  I  don't  know  quite  what  to  think, 
but  I  thought  I'd  bring  it  to  your  notice. 

"A  Mrs.  Thornton,  of  Park  View,  a  large  house 
just  past  Forest  Court,  going  out  on  the  main  road, 
has  reported  that  her  Singer  six  saloon,  number  RU 
9081,  has  been  stolen  from  her  garage  at  the  side 
of  the  house. 

"It  appears  she  left  the  house  on  Thursday  last 
for  a  long  week-end  in  Town.  On  returning  yes- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  171 

tcrday,  she  found  the  garage  had  been  entered  and 
her  car  taken. 

"There  were  no  servants  in  the  house  from  Friday 
evening  to  yesterday  morning,  Mrs.  Thornton  hav- 
ing given  them  a  few  days'  holiday. 

"A  peculiar  feature  of  the  theft  is  that  the  garage 
lock  shows  no  signs  of  having  been  tampered  with. 
Mrs.  Thornton  is  certain  that  she  locked  the  door, 
and  the  servants  verify  this,  as  they  tried  all  the 
doors — including  the  garage  one — before  leaving  on 
Fridajfc  It  seems  the  thief,  or  thieves,  must  either 
have  possessed  a  key,  or  have  been  unusually  careful 
in  picking  the  lock. 

"This  is  what  comes  of  people  building  houses  in 
such  out-of-the-way  places,"  he  complained,  "and  to 
go  away  and  leave  valuable  property  unprotected  is 
inviting  trouble  of  this  sort,"  he  grumbled. 

"Are  there  no  other  houses  in  the  vicinity?"  Hunt 
inquired.  "I  haven't  been  any  farther  along  the 
road  than  Forest  Court,  so  I'm  not  familiar  with 
the  district." 

"No — the  next  house  is  a  good  mile  down  the 
road." 

"I  suppose  the  full  description  has  been  circular- 
ized to  all  stations?" 

"Oh,  yes — Lymington  saw  to  that  last  night.  I 
have  it  here — somewhere."  He  went  through  some 
papers  on  the  desk  and  produced  a  typewritten  copy. 
"I'll  read  it  out: 

"  'Stolen    from   Park   View,   near   Lymington, 
Hants,  some  time  between  Friday  the  19th  and 


172  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Wednesday  the  24th  of  May  last:  Grey  Singer, 
six  cylinder,  four-door  saloon.  Registration  No. 
RU  9081.  Engine  No.  L  2254/905281.  Chassis 
No.  BJ/4085/71132.'  " 

"We  can't  do  any  more,"  remarked  Hunt.  "I 
suppose  it'll  turn  up  again.  It's  surprising  how 
few  cars  disappear  entirely."  Then  inquiringly: 

"What's  the  programme  to-day,  Superintendent  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  for  you  to  decide.  I  have  nothing 
special  on  to-day.  I  shall  be  able  to  lend  you  a  hand 
until  tea-time,  at  least." 

"Well,  I've  been  thinking  we  ought  to  find  out 
just  where  our  Mr.  Day  spent  the  early  hours  of 
Tuesday  morning.  As  he  has  probably  returned 
home,  this  will  mean  a  trip  to  Town,  I'm  afraid.  I 
have  his  address  in  my  pocket-book,  so  I  think  I 
ought  to  'phone  him  for  an  appointment,"  answered 
Hunt  at  length. 

"Yes — that  does  seem  the  next  step,  Inspector. 
Although  it'll  take  up  more  than  half  the  day,  it 
can't  be  helped.  Even  if  he  has  a  perfectly  satis- 
factory answer,  it'll  mean  crossing  yet  another  name 
off  our  list  of  suspects,  and  so  narrow  down  the  chan- 
nels of  our  inquiry.  And  that'll  be  better  than  re- 
maining at  a  standstill." 

Hunt  was  reaching  for  the  'phone  when  Walker 
interrupted. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  "here's  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. He's  got  another  fisherman  with  him.  I 
wonder  what's  turned  up  now?" 

Hunt  turned,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

The  Chief  Constable,  followed  by  the  fisherman 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  173 

Walker  had  indicated,  was  walking  across  the  road 
from  his  car. 

He  seemed  in  good  spirits,  for  his  face  was 
clothed  in  smiles  and  his  attitude  was  that  of  a 
man  who  has  received  good  news. 

He  passed  out  of  sight  beneath  the  window,  then, 
a  few  seconds  later,  flung  open  the  office  door. 

He  was  plainly  excited;  even  his  military  train- 
ing did  not  enable  him  to  conceal  the  fact. 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  began.  "Al- 
though it  seems  I'm  not  the  early  bird,  I  think  it's 
me  who's  caught  the  worm. 

"This  gentleman" — he  indicated  the  fisherman — 
"came  to  my  house  early  this  morning — before  I  was 
up,  in  fact — and  he  has  brought  us  news  of  the  ut- 
most importance. 

"It's  news  of  Evans  and  his  wife — both  alive  and 
kicking!" 


XVII 
AT  THE  BUNGALOW 

HUNT  looked  across  at  the  Superintendent.  "News 
of  the  Evanses,  eh!  My  word,  Major  Williams  cer- 
tainly has  caught  the  first  worm,  and  a  mighty  fat 
worm  too,  while  we  poor  early  birds  haven't  even 
had  a  peck  at  one." 

The  newcomer  had  already  taken  the  chair  in- 
dicated by  the  Chief  Constable,  and  Hunt  studied 
him  intently  as  he  lit  the  cigarette  that  Walker, 
showing  his  usual  generosity  towards  witnesses,  had 
thrust  upon  him. 

He  was  quite  a  young  man,  handsome  in  a  coarse 
kind  of  way,  and  showed,  the  Yard  man  noticed,  a 
stubble  of  at  least  three  days'  growth  on  his  chin. 

He  wore  similar  garb  to  the  visitor  of  the  previous 
evening,  but  his  high,  rubber  thigh-boots  showed 
more  signs  of  wear. 

The  colour  of  his  nose  suggested  a  liking  of  alco- 
hol, and,  truth  to  tell,  his  breath  was  tainted  with 
the  odour  of  stale  beer.  But  it  was  his  eyes  that 
completed  Hunt's  unfavourable  opinion  of  him;  an 
opinion  that  had  its  beginnings  as  soon  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold.  For  his  eyes  were  narrow,  ferrety, 
and  shifty-looking. 

The  Chief  Constable  briefly  explained  how  Birch 

— for  that,  it  transpired,  was  the  man's  name — came 

to  his  house  that  morning  and  told  him  he  had  a 

174 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  175 

story  to  tell,  but  for  his  own  safety  could  only  tell 
it  in  confidence,  and  if  promised  full  forgiveness  for 
his  misdeeds. 

After  being  assured  that  these  misdeeds  were  not 
so  very  serious,  the  Chief  Constable  had,  he  said, 
given  Birch  a  definite  promise  that  any  evidence  he 
had  to  give  that  incriminated  him  would  not  be  used 
against  him. 

"I  find  myself  entirely  justified  by  this  somewhat 
irregular  undertaking,"  he  concluded,  "for  Birch's 
story  may  prove  to  be  of  incalculable  value."  Then : 

"Now,  Birch,  tell  the  Inspector  what  you  saw  at 
daybreak  Tuesday  morning." 

The  fisherman  looked  across  at  Hunt. 

"If  I  tell  you  the  whole  story,  I  suppose  the  Chief 
Constable's  promise  holds  good?  I  don't  altogether 
trust  you  plain-clothes  blokes,"  he  started,  with 
something  approaching  a  smile.  The  question  was 
evidently  meant  without  the  malice  which  could  easily 
be  read  into  the  words. 

"Certainly!  If  the  Chief  Constable  is  prepared 
to  overlook  your  sins,  whatever  they  may  be,  it's  not 
for  me  to  interfere,"  replied  Hunt  readily. 

"Well,  as  long  as  I  know,  that's  all  right.  Here 
goes. 

"On  Monday  night  I  went  out  to  do  a  bit  of  river- 
fishing  up  the  Avon,  towards  Ringwood.  I'd  better 
tell  you  first,  I  suppose,  where  I  live — that's  Christ- 
church — alongside  the  river,  upstream  of  the  main 
road. 

"I  keep  a  little  sailin'-boat  moored  at  the  bottom 
of  my  garden,  and  as  the  river  is  pretty  wide  I  use 
it  quite  a  lot.  On  Monday  night  there  was  hardly 


176  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

any  wind,  though  we  'ad  'ad  a  bit  of  a  storm  earlier, 
but  I  found  just  enough  to  carry  me  slowly  up  the 
river. 

"As  soon  as  I  got  clear  of  the  town  I  dropped  a 
spinner  over  in  the  hopes  h'of  pickin'  up  a  stray 
salmon.  As  you  gentlemen  know,  there's  folks  that 
see  harm  in  that  an'  call  it  poachin',"  he  added  un- 
necessarily. 

"Well,  as  it  happens,  I  'ad  a  bit  of  luck  and  got 
a  couple  of  nice  ones  about  seven  or  eight  miles  up- 
stream. The  time,  when  I  hooked  my  second,  was 
about  three  o'clock.  .  .  . 

"As  this  seemed  a  good  spot,  I  sailed  backwards 
and  forwards  for  more'n  an  hour,  but  I  didn't  get 
another.  As  it  was  starting  to  get  light,  I  decided 
to  pull  in  my  line  an'  turn  for  home. 

"I  'adn't  gone  more'n  a  mile  'fore  I  came  to  a 
stretch  where  there  are  half  a  dozen  summer  bunga- 
lows on  the  bank. 

"There  was,  I  saw  to  my  surprise,  a  car  drawn 
up  outside  the  nearest  one.  They  all  'ave  their  own 
drive  down  from  the  road,  which  is  only  fifty  yards 
away,"  he  explained. 

"  'That's  funny,'  I  said  to  myself ;  'I  wonder  who 
that  can  be?'  It  was  moonlight  when  I  passed  on 
my  way  upstream,  an'  I  knew  that  the  car  wasn't 
there  then. 

"I  used  to  come  up  this  way  a  lot  the  summer 
before,  an'  I  knew  the  end  bungalow  belonged  to  Mr. 
Evans — 'Myns  Abass' — I  remember  the  name.  It 
struck  me  as  bein'  comic. 

"It  wasn't  no  business  of  mine,  though,  an'  I 
shouldn't  'ave  thought  no  more  about  it,  but  just 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  177 

as  I  drew  level   a  lady   an'  gentleman   came   out. 

"I  couldn't  see  the  lady  properly,  as  she  turned 
her  back  on  me  to  lock  the  door.  But  I  did  see  the 
gentleman.  I  saw  him  plainly.  I  was  Mr.  Evans. 
An'  the  lady,  judgin'  by  her  figur',  I  took  to  be  Mrs. 
Evans. 

"Neither  of  them  'appened  ter  notice  me,  an'  I 
should  have  soon  forgotten  all  about  it,  only  I  'card 
later  what  'ad  'appened  on  the  'Ead. 

"Then,  when  I  'card  about  that  chauffeur  bloke 
bein'  pulled  in  for  murder,  I  said  to  the  missus, 
'  'Ere's  a  nice  mess  to  be  in,  to  be  sure.  There's 
something  fishy  goin'  on  here,  I'm  certain.  What 
am  I  to  do?  If  I  don't  go  to  the  police,  an  innocent 
bloke'll  most  likely  get  'ung,  an'  if  I  do  go,  I  shall 
get  put  back  in  jug.' 

"  'Owever  my  missus  said,  'You  go  and  see  the 
Chief  Constable  'isself,  an'  if  you  put  it  to  'im  that 
he'll  get  nothing  by  juggin'  you  he  may  let  you  orf.' 

"I  put  orf  comin'  all  day  yesterday,  then  I 
couldn't  bear  waitin'  no  longer. 

"  'Righto,  Katie,'  I  said.  'I'll  get  up  early  an' 
do  as  you  say!'  That's  'ow  I  come  to  be  'ere." 

The  importance  of  this  statement  could  not,  as 
the  Chief  Constable  had  said,  be  estimated.  It  would 
be  one  of  the  main  weapons  in  the  hands  of  the  pros- 
ecution. 

"Thank  goodness  you  came,"  remarked  the  In- 
spector. "And  now  for  a  few  questions.  .  .  . 

"Did  you  notice  the  size  and  colour  of  the  car?" 

"Yes.  I  noticed  it  was  one  I  'adn't  seen  there 
before.  It  was  greyish  in  colour  and  quite  a  decent 
size." 


178  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"A  saloon,  of  course?" 

"Yes.     It  was  a  closed-in  one." 

"Did  you  notice  whether  there  was  anyone  wait- 
ing in  it?" 

"No.  I  couldn't  see.  It  was  turned  back  to  me — 
ready  to  go  out  again;  if  there  was  anybody  in  it, 
I  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  see  them." 

This  answer  was  not  at  all  satisfactory,  but  Hunt 
realised  that  the  car  must  have  been  seen  later  on 
the  road.  Given  luck,  he  would  be  able  to  find  some- 
one who  remembered  how  many  occupants  it  had. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  didn't  notice  that,  perhaps 
you  will  be  able  to  help  me  here.  Was  either  Mr. 
Evans  or  the  lady  we  take  to  be  his  wife  carrying 
any  luggage?" 

Birch  thought  for  a  moment.  "Yes,"  he  replied. 
"Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  Mr.  Evans  was.  He 
was  carrying  a  little  portmanteau." 

"A  blue  one?"  put  in  Hunt  quickly. 

"No,  not  blue.  I  remember  distinctly  now.  It 
was  brown." 

"Brown,  eh !"  Hunt  thought  for  a  moment.  This 
was  not  the  answer  he  had  expected.  Presently  he 
continued : 

"Have  you  ever  seen  the  car  anywhere  before?" 

Birch  considered  for  quite  a  minute.  "No.  I 
can't  say  definitely  that  I  'ave ;  there's  so  many  aboul 
like  it." 

"You've  never  seen  it  coming  from  Lymington  by 
any  chance?  a  woman  drives  it." 

The  Chief  Constable  was  listening  wonderingly. 
What  game  was  the  Yard  man  playing?  He  began 
to  feel  that  he  hadn't  been  the  only  one  to  catch  a 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  179 

worm  after  all.  Birch's  answer  settled  his  doubts. 
It  was  plain  that  Hunt  had  scored  again. 

"Blimey,  Sergeant,"  he  said,  reducing  Hunt  in 
rank  unwittingly,  "you're  right.  I  remember  now. 
Wait  a  bit.  I'll  tell  you  'er  name."  He  scratched 
his  head  vigorously,  as  if  to  help  refresh  his  mem- 
ory. 

"Damme,  I've  'card  it  somewhere.  Mrs.  Thornley 
— no,  not  Thornley —  I've  got  it — Thornton! 
That's  it — Mrs.  Thornton." 

"Quite  correct,"  smiled  Hunt.  "Mrs.  Thornton 
of  Park  View."  Then,  seeing  the  look  of  astonish- 
ment growing  on  the  Chief  Constable's  face,  he  could 
not  refrain  from  adding,  "It's  a  Singer  six,  registra- 
tion number  RU  9081." 

Pen  in  hand,  he  picked  up  the  official  description 
of  the  car  that  the  Lymington  police  had  circulated. 

"Get  this  out  again  at  once,  with  this  addition," 
he  commanded  the  Superintendent. 

The  words  he  wrote  were  but  few.  Just — "Hold 
the  occupants  on  a  charge  of  murder."  "And,  whilst 
you're  out  there,"  he  added,  indicating  the  outer  of- 
fice, "send  out  a  full  description  of  both  the  Evanses, 
and  ask  for  a  close  watch  to  be  kept  on  all  ports." 

The  Chief  Constable  looked  up  at  Hunt.  "Don't 
you  think  a  trip  to  the  bungalow  will  be  worth 
while?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  certainly — and  after  that  I'm  going  to 
search  Moorlands  from  top  to  bottom,  even  if  I  have 
to  get  a  warrant." 

"There'll  be  no  need  for  that.  I've  always  found 
Davis  most  obliging." 

"He's  got  to  be,"  said  Hunt  grimly.     "It's  a  mat- 


180  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

ter  of  time  being  everything  now;  the  longer  start 
they  get  the  harder  they'll  be  to  trace.  I'm  afraid 
we  shall  find  that  they've  dumped  the  Singer  long 
ago. 

"If  only  you'd  come  before,"  he  added  reproach- 
fully to  Birch;  then  more  brightly,  seeing  the  man 
looked  a  little  hurt,  "Never  mind,  better  late  than 
never,  I  suppose." 

They  moved  out  from  the  office  to  where  the  Su- 
perintendent stood  talking  to  an  elderly,  profes- 
sional-looking gentleman. 

"This  is  Dr.  Burroughs,"  Walker  began,  on  see- 
ing Hunt  approaching.  "Allow  me  to  introduce 
you.  He  has  come  to  sign  the  warrants — we  shall 
want  two  now,  I'm  afraid." 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  formalities  completed, 
warrants  signed,  and  descriptions  being  flashed 
throughout  the  land,  the  officials  were  free  to  start 
their  journey. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  drive  brought  them  to  the 
bungalow. 

They  had  no  key,  but  Hunt  produced  a  couple 
of  oddly  bent  pieces  of  wire  from  his  pocket,  and 
after  a  couple  of  minutes'  work  on  the  lock  the  door 
swung  open. 

It  seemed  the  journey  had  been  in  vain.  Few 
traces  of  the  brief  visit  of  the  owners  were  to  be 
seen. 

The  scanty  furniture  that  had  been  left  there  for 
the  winter  was  thickly  covered  with  dust,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  damp  rooms  was  cold  and  unin- 
viting. It  was  obvious  that  the  place  had  been  un- 
occupied for  some  considerable  time. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  181 

It  was  only  in  the  dining-room  that  definite  proof 
of  the  supposed  visit  was  to  be  found.  Here,  in  the 
grate,  a  heap  of  ashes  showed  some  papers  to  have 
recently  been  burned. 

Hunt  bent  down  and  gently  lifted  a  few  of  the 
larger  fragments  with  a  pair  of  small  tweezers.  All 
he  could  say,  though,  after  a  most  careful  examina- 
tion, was  that  they  were  the  remains  of  a  newspaper, 
probably  the  Daily  Mail. 

"We'll  take  these  along  with  us,"  he  said,  "but 
I  don't  think  we  shall  learn  much  from  them." 

After  noting  that  one  corner  of  the  table  had 
been  used  as  a  chair,  and  that  the  mirror  over  the 
fireplace  had  been  wiped,  they  agreed  that  the  place 
had  shown  them  all  the  clues  it  had  to  offer,  and, 
after  relocking  the  door,  turned  their  attention  to 
the  gravel  drive. 

Here  the  tracks  of  a  car  were  plainly  visible.  Fol- 
lowing them,  Hunt  found  that  they  turned  right 
for  Christchurch  when  they  reached  the  main  road. 
"Gone  to  Town,  for  a  fiver,"  he  said. 

"And  now  Moorlands?"  queried  the  Chief  Con- 
stable, climbing  into  his  car. 

"Yes,  sir.     And  as  fast  as  we  can  get  there." 

Davis  was  as  obliging  as  possible.  When  Hunt 
explained  the  reason  of  the  visit,  he  offered  to  show 
them  round  himself. 

As  at  Forest  Court,  they  started  their  search  in 
the  attic. 

But  here  they  found  no  well-equipped  workshops 
and  highly  interesting  museums. 

Instead,  just  the  usual  ill-lit  storage-place  of  years 
of  accumulated  rubbish. 


182  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Nothing  worth  worrying  about  up  here,"  re- 
marked Hunt  after  a  moment.  "Come  on — let's  pro- 
ceed." 

The  servants'  quarters  on  the  next  floor  they  left 
unlocked  at.  Passing  them  quickly,  they  came  to 
the  bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Evans'  was  the  first  to  be  visited.  A  little 
bureau  holding  her  private  correspondence  was  ruth- 
lessly forced.  A  hurried  look  through  some  of  her 
letters  gave  Hunt  the  impression  that  they  were 
valueless.  But  he  was  leaving  nothing  to  chance. 
How  often  he  had  found  the  most  innocent-looking 
documents  to  contain  a  vital  clue. 

Borrowing  an  attache-case,  he  slipped  them  in- 
side, after  having  first  sealed  them  in  a  large  en- 
velope on  which  he  wrote:  "Mrs.  Evans'  Bureau." 

Then  on  to  Mr.  Evans'  room.  Nothing  here,  it 
seemed.  Just  a  bed,  a  couple  of  chairs,  dressing- 
table,  washstand,  and  chest  of  drawers. 

He  ran  quickly  through  the  drawers.  "Hardly 
any  clothes  here,"  he  observed. 

Davis  explained.  All  Mr.  Evans'  suits  had  gone 
to  Plymouth.  In  fact,  the  only  one  that  had  not 
was  the  one  the  wanted  man  was  wearing.  The  valet 
described  it.  "Single-breasted,  of  reddish-brown  ma- 
terial, with  a  slight  pin-stripe." 

The  dressing  table  next  claimed  Hunt's  attention. 

In  the  second  drawer  he  opened  there  lay  a  type- 
written envelope.  He  snatched  it  up  eagerly.  To 
his  disappointment  it  did  not  contain  a  letter.  In- 
stead, only  an  assortment  of  various  sized  suction 
pads  for  an  upper  dental-plate. 

He  flung  it  back,  exasperated,  and  continued. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  183 

A  few  bills  in  one  of  the  small  side-drawers  went 
the  way  of  the  letters  in  Mrs.  Evans'  bureau. 

Then  to  the  other  bedrooms.  Each  was  unoc- 
cupied, so  the  inspection  was  but  brief.  None  of 
them  offered  a  clue. 

Evans'  study  was  the  first  ground-floor  room  to 
be  examined.  The  desk  here  would  not  yield  to 
Hunt's  wire  and  had  to  be  forced.  There  was  sin- 
gularly little  correspondence  in  it.  What  there  was 
he  hurriedly  docketed  and  slipped  into  the  bag. 

The  other  rooms  were  soon  disposed  of.  Quick 
as  the  search  was,  it  was  thorough.  Even  the  house- 
keeping bills  and  account-books  were  carried  off. 

"Where  to  now?"  asked  the  Chief  Constable  as 
they  finished  the  task.  "Back  to  the  station?" 

"Yes.  We  must  try  to  sort  out  these" — indicating 
the  contents  of  the  bag — "but  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
be  interrupted  by  news  of  the  finding  of  the  car." 


XVIII 
THE  HUNT  BEGINS  IN  EARNEST 

BACK  at  the  station,  the  officials  set  about  the  al- 
ways unpleasant  business  of  prying  into  other  peo- 
ple's correspondence.  Even  though  he  was  certain 
that  she  was  a  murderess,  Hunt  felt  a  slight  feeling 
of  revulsion  as  he  began  to  read  carefully  the  letters 
he  had  taken  from  Mrs.  Evans'  bureau. 

Most  of  them  were  of  comparatively  recent  re- 
ceipt, some  of  them  being  business  letters  from  her 
dressmakers  and  hairdressers,  others  invitations  to 
various  social  events  and  dances,  while  several  were 
from  an  unknown  Biddy,  who,  it  seemed,  had  been  en- 
joying a  most  profitable  run  of  luck  at  Monte  Carlo. 
All  of  them,  however,  made  most  uninteresting 
reading  to  an  outsider,  and  Hunt  was  not  sorry  when 
he  put  down  the  last  of  the  loose  ones. 

Only  a  small  bundle  now  remained.  These  were 
tied  neatly  with  blue  ribbon.  As  he  began  to  untie 
them,  he  thought  of  the  words  of  the  still  popular 
waltz :  V 

Some  letters  tied  with  blue, 

A  photograph  or  two, 

I  see  a  rose  from  you, 

Among  my  souvenirs. 

Were  these,  he  wondered,  souvenirs — the  passionate 
love-letters  of  some  still  remembered  swain? 

The  bundle  untied,  he  picked  up  the  first  one.     It 

184 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  185 

was  over  three  years  old,  but  the  writing,  he  thought, 
seemed  familiar. 

"My  Own  Darling  Peggy,"  it  began,  and  ap- 
peared to  continue  in  the  same  romantic  strain. 

After  reading  a  few  lines,  he  turned  to  the  back 
page.  He  saw  at  once  what  he  had  half  expected 
to  see.  The  writer  had  been  the  late  Sir  Charles 
Stafford. 

Putting  it  down,  he  picked  up  the  next.  The 
handwriting  was  similar.  A  hurried  inspection 
showed  him  that  all  the  others  originated  from  the 
same  source,  and  all,  he  saw,  were  couched  in  the 
same  terms  of  endearment — "Sweetheart  of  all  my 
Dreams";  "Wonderful  One";  "My  Own  Glorious 
Little  Girl" — to  quote  but  few  as  examples. 

"Perhaps  there's  a  clue  here,  after  all,"  he  said 
aloud. 

"What  have  you  found?"  asked  the  Superintend- 
ent, looking  up.  "Love-letters?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "Love-letters—but  the 
most  recent  is  over  three  years  old." 

He  settled  down  again  to  read  through  the  sen- 
timental "nothings"  a  man  will  always  write  to  the 
woman  he  fancies  himself  in  love  with. 

But  what  he  read  had  little  bearing  on  the  case. 
There  was  no  hint  of  a  quarrel,  nothing  to  show 
what  had  occurred  to  upset  the  plans  of  an  early 
marriage  that  the  dead  man  spoke  so  enthusiasti- 
cally of. 

Baffled,  Hunt  retied  the  letters  with  their  ribbon, 
and  set  to  work  on  a  batch  he  picked  from  the  others 
still  in  the  bag. 


186  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Promptly  as  Big  Ben  chimed  the  hour  of  eleven 
Claude  Gascoigne  came  to  Scotland  Yard.  A  police 
constable  immediately  ushered  him  into  the  presence 
of  the  Chief  Commissioner. 

Sir  James  Spreadbury  greeted  him  warmly;  al- 
most with  brotherly  affection. 

"So  you're  the  gentleman  to  whom  we  owe  so 
much — "  he  began. 

But  Gascoigne  waved  him  down.  "It  was  noth- 
ing, Sir  James,"  he  said,  "nothing  at  all.  .  .  .  Any 
other  decent-minded  Britisher,  given  the  opportu- 
nity, would  have  done  the  same. — I  had  that  oppor- 
tunity— that  was  all." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  dlcC  get  the  opportunity,  Mr. 
Gascoigne.  How  you  got  it  I  do  not  intend  to  in- 
quire, but  I  will  say,  in  passing,  that  for  a  long  time 
past  your  comings  and  goings  have  been  regarded 
with  curiosity,  not  to  say  suspicion,  by  my  men." 

"I  am  well  aware  of  it,  Sir  James,  well  aware  of 
it.  In  fact,  on  one  or  two  occasions  their  presence 
has,  metaphorically  speaking,  almost  resulted  in  the 
killing  of  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  egg.  But 
I  came  here  to  give  you  valuable  information,  and 
so,  as  I'm  a  busy  man,  I  propose  to  waste  no  time. 
No  one  can  hear  us  in  here?"  he  inquired  question- 
ingly. 

"No,  no  one,  Mr.  Gascoigne;  the  walls  are  abso- 
lutely sound-proof,  and,  as  you  can  see,  there's  no 
one  here  but  us,"  replied  the  Chief  Commissioner. 
He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  explain  that  all  that 
was  taking  place  was  being  recorded  by  a  dicta- 
phone. 

"Very  well  then.     As  I  have  your  assurance  that 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  187 

we  cannot  be  overheard,  I'll  give  you  the  names  I 
promised.  .  .  .  You  realise,"  he  went  on,  taking  a 
slip  of  paper  from  his  notebook  the  while,  "if  it 
should  ever  leak  out  that  Claude  Gascoigne  supplied 
this  information,  to-day  will  prove  a  very  disastrous 
day  for  me.  I  never  forget  the  ancient  saying, 
'Walls  have  ears,'  and  even  Scotland  Yard  may  have 
traitors  within  its  gates,  you  know." 

Then,  reading  from  the  list,  he  began:  "These 
are  the  names  of  several  prominent  members  of  the 
gang.  A  man  named  Schwartz — I  don't  know  his 
Christian  name,  but  he  is  known  as  'Issy'  to  his 
friends,  and  is,  I  believe,  well  known  to  the  police. 

"Wilfred  Barnes — he  drives  about  in  his  Rolls 
and  runs  an  expensive  flat  in  Knightsbridge. 

"Jerry  Scott  and  Lennox  Hugonin — they're  two 
ex-confidence  men — and  a  couple  of  others  of  whom 
I  know  little  save  that  their  names  are  Brewer  and 
McKenzie." 

Sir  James  smiled  grimly.  Every  one  of  the  men 
whose  names  had  been  read  out  was  a  suspected  traf- 
ficker. 

"They  are  meeting  to-night  at  eight  o'clock  at 
a  house  in  Devonshire  Avenue — No.  121,  to  be  pre- 
cise. A  consignment  of  cocaine  and  heroin  will  be 
distributed  on  the  premises. 

"To  get  this  information,  I  need  hardly  add,  I 
have  had  to  run  the  greatest  risks.  However,  I  am 
certain  it  is  correct,  so  I  hope  you  will  use  it  to  the 
best  advantage  and  take  them  all  red-handed." 

"We  shall — certainly.  You  can  be  assured  of 
that,"  replied  Sir  James  with  enthusiasm.  "I  sup- 


188  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

pose,"  he  added,  "we  shall  take  the  'boss'  there  too?" 
"I'm  afraid  not,"  corrected  the  other  man. 
"Not?     Why  not?     Isn't  he  going  to  be  there?" 
«No — he    won't    be    there."      Then    softly    and 

slowly:  "You  see — he's  dead." 

"Dead,"  echoed  Sir  James.    "You  don't  mean  it !" 
"Yes,   dead.      Murdered,  in   fact.     He   was  Sir 

Charles  Stafford" 

•  •••••• 

Hardly  had  Hunt  had  time  to  scan  the  first  of  the 
letters  taken  from  Evans'  desk  when  the  telephone 
bell  rang.  The  Superintendent  picked  up  the  in- 
strument. 

"It's  for  you,  Inspector,"  he  said;  "they've  put 
it  through  from  the  outer  office." 

Sir  James  Spreadbury  was  on  the  other  end  of 
the  wire. 

In  a  very  few  moments  he  had  told  Hunt  of 
Claude  Gascoigne's  amazing  disclosures.  "Appar- 
ently," he  explained,  "Sir  Charles  had  been  doing 
the  smuggling  himself,  bringing  the  dope  from  the 
Continent  by  air." 

He  had  taken  little  part  in  the  actual  distribution, 
but  the  method  of  this  distribution  had  been  devised 
by  the  dead  man,  who  was  the  brains  of  the  gang. 

Only  one  or  two  of  the  heads  knew  who  "the  boss" 
was;  although  he  was  occasionally  present  at  the 
meetings,  he  was  always  masked,  and  allowed  no  one 
to  question  his  authority. 

"He  had  us  completely  in  the  dark,  you  know," 
the  Chief  concluded,  "and  I'm  wondering  if  his  mur- 
der was  due  to  his  connection  with  the  gang." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  189 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt,  "I  have  every  reason  to 
think  that  it  was.  We  know  the  murderer,  Evans, 
for  whose  arrest  we  hold  a  warrant,  is  himself  mixed 
up  in  some  shady  business.  Do  you  think  you  can 
see  Gascoigne  again,  and  get  him  to  do  his  utmost 
to  find  out  whether  Evans  was  in  any  way  connected 
with  the  Chelsea  crowd?  We  know  for  certain  that 
Evans  was  being  pushed  out  of  business,  and  if  we 
knew  that  he  was  in  the  dope  game  we  should  have 
our  motive  straight  away.  Not  that  we  haven't  a 
prima  facie  case  against  him  already — we  have — 
but  we  want  to  leave  nothing  to  chance." 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  answered  Sir  James,  "and 
in  the  meantime  Gascoigne  will  have  a  'shadow'  fol- 
lowing who  will  not  leave  him  day  or  night. 

"Neither  Whitfield  nor  myself  entirely  trusts  the 
man,  in  spite  of  his  open-handed  actions,  and  we 
both  have  a  feeling  that  there's  a  lot  more  than 
meets  the  eye  in  his  denunciations." 

"A  good  idea,"  commented  Hunt.  "He  may  easily 
be  paving  the  way  for  a  gang  of  his  own.  Keep  an 
eye  on  him  by  all  means." 

A  brief  review  of  the  murder  case  by  Hunt  con- 
cluded the  conversation,  and  he  returned  once  more 
to  the  letters. 

He  was  not  allowed  to  work  at  them  for  long. 
The  'phone  bell  rang  again,  and  this  time  Walker 
announced  that  a  Swanage  Inspector  had  arrived 
with  Hunt's  tramp.  "They  are  showing  him  in  at 
once,"  he  added. 

Almost  immediately  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
The  two  new  arrivals  provided  a  striking  contrast; 
the  Inspector  tall  and  generously  proportioned,  the 


190  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

tramp   a  miserable-looking  specimen   of  humanity, 
standing  no  more  than  four  foot  ten. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  the  Inspector  began : 
"We  received  your  message  warning  us  to  look  out 
for  a  man  of  the  tramp  class  wearing  an  exception- 
ally large  pair  of  boots  for  his  size,"  he  said,  "and, 
acting  on  this  information,  P.C.  Burgin  stopped  this 
fellow  as  he  was  coming  into  the  town. 

"It  was  soon  obvious  that  he  was  the  man  you 
wanted  to  interview.  .  .  .  As  I  had  to  come  this  way, 
I  brought  him  over  with  me." 

The  tramp,  who  said  his  name  was  Jack  Jones, 
was  able  to  tell  his  story  in  a  fairly  coherent  manner. 

On  the  previous  Sunday,  he  related,  he  had  set  out 
from  Southampton  to  walk  to  Plymouth,  where  he 
hoped  he  might  find  work.  On  Monday  evening  he 
came  to  the  cattle-shelter  near  Redstock  just  as  dusk 
began  to  fall. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  the  hut  already  had  an 
occupant,  and  this  other  man,  he  discovered,  was 
seriously  ill. 

It  was  his  heart,  he  explained  t(?  the  tramp,  but 
he  would  not  allow  him  to  go  for  help,  saying  that 
he  had  been  like  it  many  times  before  and  he  knew 
from  experience  that  the  spasm  would  soon  pass. 

After  an  hour  it  did  pass,  but  later  another  attack 
came  on,  and  he  died  almost  immediately.  This 
would  be  just  after  midnight. 

Seeing  that  he  could  do  no  more,  he  did  not  relish 
the  idea  of  spending  the  night  with  the  dead  body, 
and  decided  to  find  another  spot  farther  on. 

Before  leaving,  however,  he  noticed  that  his  dead 
companion's  boots  were  considerably  more  service- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  191 

able  than  his  own,  so  he  decided  to  appropriate  them. 

He  found,  however,  that  they  were  much  too  large, 
and  he  had  to  stuff  them  with  grass.  This  measure 
had  the  desired  effect,  and  he  set  off  again  on  his 
journey. 

"The  time  then,"  he  replied  to  Hunt's  questioning, 
"was  not  quite  1  A.M." 

He  had  immediately  set  off  for  Bournemouth, 
where  he  spent  most  of  Tuesday  asleep  under  a 
hedge,  and  then  by  easy  stages  tramped  to  Swanage, 
where  he  had  been  stopped  by  the  police. 

"Well,  this  clears  Newton,"  the  Superintendent 
remarked.  "If  he  was  dead  at  one  o'clock  he  could 
not  have  had  a  hand  in  the  affair." 

"No,"  agreed  the  Chief  Constable,  "he  couldn't. 
That's  obvious." 

Hunt,  after  inspecting  the  boots  and  satisfying 
himself  that  they  could  not  have  made  the  once  mys- 
terious single  set  of  tracks,  told  the  tramp  to  wait 
outside  for  a  moment. 

"What  shall  we  give  him?"  he  queried.  "His  evi- 
dence was  not  of  much  value,  as  we  had  already  prac- 
tically dismissed  Newton  from  the  case.  Do  you 
think  a  pound  too  much?" 

"No,"  replied  the  Chief  Constable.  "That  won't 
break  us.  I'll  go  and  see  what  I  can  do  about  it." 

He  rose  and  passed  out  to  another  room. 

He  had  hardly  left  when  the  'phone  bell  rang 
again.  This  time  what  the  Inspector  heard  told 
him  the  hu/it  was  on  in  earnest. 

The  Singer  had  been  traced  to  an  all-night  garage 
just  outside  Winchester.  It  had  been  left  there  by 
a  lady  and  gentleman  who  had  driven  up  early  on 


192  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Tuesday  morning  and  complained  of  engine  trouble. 

They  had  afterwards  proceeded  on  their  journey 
to  Bath  in  a  Morris  Cowley  two-seater  they  had  bor- 
rowed for  a  day  or  two  whilst  the  Singer  was  being 
put  in  order.  The  number  of  the  Morris  was,  he 
learned,  RU  9188. 

The  Chief  Constable  re-entered  as  Hunt  was  put- 
ting down  the  instrument. 

On  hearing  the  news,  he  was  all  for  the  three  of 
them  driving  out  to  Winchester  straight  away. 

This  course  was  agreeable  to  the  others,  so,  after 
giving  orders  for  the  Morris's  number  and  descrip- 
tion to  be  circulated,  the  three  officials  hurried  to 
the  Chief  Constable's  high-powered  car. 

"How  far  is  it?"  queried  Hunt.     "Forty  miles?" 

"Just  over,"  answered  the  Chief  Constable. 

"Bet  you  five  shillings  you  don't  do  it  in  an  hour !" 

The  Chief  Constable  looked  at  Hunt.  "Really  you 
are  a  reckless  devil,  Inspector,"  he  began.  Then, 
slipping  in  his  gears,  "Righto!  It's  a  bet." 


XIX 
THE  SECRET  CODE 

ONE  hour,  four  minutes,  fifteen  seconds  later,  the 
Chief  Constable  brought  his  car  to  a  standstill  out- 
side McAndrew's  All-Night  Garage. 

"You  win,  Inspector,"  he  said,  "but  you  wouldn't 
have  done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  confounded 
brewer's  dray  holding  us  up  in  Southampton." 

The  Inspector  smiled.  "Better  luck  next  time," 
he  said.  "It  was  certainly  a  close  shave  for  me." 

Mr.  McAndrew  himself  was  in  attendance  at  the 
garage,  having  been  warned  of  the  officials'  impend- 
ing arrival. 

He  invited  them  into  his  private  office,  where  he 
produced  a  bottle  of  whisky  and  a  syphon  of  soda- 
water. 

He  repeated  the  story  of  the  fugitives'  arrival 
over  the  drinks,  and  added  that  no  trace  of  engine 
trouble  in  the  Singer  was  to  be  found. 

It  was  unfortunate  that  he  had  himself  been  at 
the  garage  at  the  time,  he  said,  for  had  the  petrol- 
pump  attendant  alone  been  in  charge  he  would  not 
have  dared  sanction  the  exchange  of  cars. 

"I  don't  think  it's  made  much  difference,"  replied 
Hunt.  "If  they  hadn't  been  able  to  leave  the  Singer 
here  they  would  have  dumped  it  somewhere  else. 
They  won't  keep  the  Morris  either,"  he  added.  "It'll 
turn  up  some  time  to-day. 

193 


194  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Now  about  the  lady  and  gentleman.  Do  you 
recognise  them  from  these  photographs?"  He 
handed  the  proprietor  a  couple  of  snaps  he  had 
found  in  Evans'  desk. 

The  man  looked  at  them  intently  for  a  minute  or 
so.  "It  certainly  is  the  man,"  he  declared  at  length, 
"but  I'm  not  at  all  sure  about  the  woman.  The  lady 
in  this  photograph  is  a  blonde;  the  lady  in  the  car, 
I'm  almost  positive,  was  a  brunette!" 

"Dye,"  suggested  the  Superintendent. 

"Yes — possibly,"  put  in  Hunt,  "or,  perhaps,  a 
wig." 

The  telephone  bell  started  to  ring,  cutting  short 
any  chance  of  further  conversation. 

The  call  was  for  the  trio,  from  Bournemouth 
police  station. 

The  Morris  had  been  reported  found  abandoned 
near  Surbiton  railway  station. 

"Then  they've  got  to  Town,"  exclaimed  Hunt. 
"We  shall  have  the  dickens  of  a  job  to  find  them 
now." 

"Shall  we  follow  them  up?"  asked  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. 

"We  might  as  well,"  replied  Hunt;  "the  stage 
seems  set  now  for  a  scene  in  London." 

Two  hours  later  found  them  in  Surbiton  police 
station.  The  story  that  the  sergeant  in  charge  had 
to  tell  was  not  at  all  helpful. 

A  patrolling  constable  had  first  noticed  the  car 
parked  in  Stourfield  Drive  at  9  A.M.  on  Tuesday 
morning.  He  had  observed  at  frequent  intervals 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  195 

throughout  the  day  that  the  car  was  still  in  the 
same  place. 

The  drive  is  a  cul-de-sac,  the  sergeant  explained, 
and  cars  are  frequently  left  there  for  hours  at  a 
time. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  passing  at  midnight,  off 
duty  and  in  plain  clothes,  that  the  constable  became 
suspicious,  as  the  car  lights  were  not  switched  on. 

He  reported  the  matter  to  the  police  station,  and 
another  constable  was  detailed  to  keep  an  eye  on  it 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then,  if  no  one  turned  up 
to  claim  it,  he  was  to  drive  it  to  the  police  station. 

No  one  had  turned  up,  so  the  car  had  come  into 
the  possession  of  the  police.  Neither  had  anyone 
reported  its  loss,  and  they  were  in  the  act  of  tracing 
it  when  Hunt's  message  had  come  to  hand. 

As  this  was  all  the  help  the  local  police  were  able  to 
give,  Hunt  suggested  that  it  might  pay  them  to  make 
inquiries  at  the  railway  station  in  the  hopes  that 
someone  may  have  remembered  seeing  the  Evanses 
there. 

But  although  they  interviewed  every  official  who 
had  been  on  duty  that  Tuesday  morning,  including 
a  couple  of  porters  who  were  away  from  work  and 
had  to  be  called  from  their  beds,  no  one  could  def- 
initely remember  the  couple. 

The  only  slender  clue  they  obtained  was  that  a 
man  who  appeared  somewhat  agitated  had  taken  a 
couple  of  tickets  for  Kingston  at  approximately  8.45 
A.M.  on  Tuesday.  He  had  a  lady  companion,  the 
booking-clerk  noticed,  and,  as  far  as  he  could  recol- 
lect, they  were  carrying  two  or  three  suit-cases. 

The  Chief  Constable  and  Walker  thought  it  might 


196  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

pay  them  to  go  along  to  Kingston  to  see  if  any  fur- 
ther trace  of  the  couple  could  be  picked  up  there, 
but  Hunt  decided  to  go  straight  to  the  Yard  and 
get  as  many  men  as  he  could  out  on  the  search.  So, 
after  arranging  to  meet  at  ten  o'clock  that  evening 
at  a  hotel  Hunt  mentioned  (situated  close  to  the 
Yard),  the  party  split  up;  Hunt  leaving  by  train, 
and  the  others  going  on  in  the  car. 

....... 

Back  at  the  Yard,  Hunt  went  along  to  see  the 
Chief  Commissioner  immediately. 

When  Sir  James  heard  that  the  wanted  couple 
had  reached  Town,  he  gave  orders  that  every  man 
who  could  be  spared  was  to  concentrate  on  a  search 
of  the  hotels.  Meanwhile  Hunt's  two  snaps  were 
to  be  enlarged,  and  the  photos,  with  as  detailed  a 
description  as  it  was  possible  to  furnish,  were  to  be 
sent  out  post  haste  to  all  stations. 

By  the  time  this  had  been  done,  and  he  had  eaten 
a  good  square  meal,  Hunt  realised  that  it  was  well 
past  seven  o'clock.  He  suddenly  thought  of  the  raid 
that  was  shortly  to  be  made  on  the  house  in  Devon- 
shire Avenue,  and  decided  that  it  might  be  worth 
his  while  to  be  present. 

He  hurried  along  to  Detective-Inspector  Whit- 
field's  office  and  volunteered  his  services.  Whitfield, 
who  was  glad  to  receive  this  unexpected  offer,  rapidly 
disclosed  his  plans. 

The  area  containing  the  avenue  was,  he  said,  al- 
ready surrounded,  and  the  detectives  were  all  armed. 
Whitfield  obviously  expected  trouble. 

A  few  minutes  before  eight  o'clock  three  innocent- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  197 

looking  vans  drove  leisurely  out  of  Scotland  Yard. 

The  first,  containing  Hunt  and  Whitfield,  in  addi- 
tion to  half  a  dozen  beefy  detectives,  was  to  all  ap- 
pearances a  greengrocer's  delivery  van.  It  bore  bore 
on  its  green  canvas  covering,  the  words,  "R.  Simms : 
Fruiterer,"  and  an  address  in  Camden  Town.  From 
the  outwardly  decrepit  state  of  the  vehicle,  passers- 
by  were  apt  to  infer  that  "R.  Simms:  Fruiterer," 
was  not  doing  so  well  in  business  as  he  might.  But 
had  any  of  these  speculating  idlers  seen  the  speed 
of  the  car  when  given  full  throttle,  they  would  soon 
have  changed  their  opinion. 

The  next  car,  in  charge  of  Sergeant  Grice,  was 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  removal  van  of  one 
"G.  Wardle:  Carrier."  But  the  half-dozen  occu- 
pants often  found  it  their  duty  to  remove  more  than 
mere  furniture. 

The  third  and  last  car,  bearing  the  lettering  and 
arms  of  one  of  the  best-known  firms  in  the  grocery 
business,  was  both  new  and  speedy.  Its  interior  was 
divided  into  two  compartments,  the  inner  of  which 
was  wont  to  receive  unwilling  and  unrepentant  gen- 
tlemen who  often  tried  to  resort  to  violence.  But 
its  unyielding  sides  were,  as  many  optimistic  crim- 
inals had  discovered,  built  of  far  tougher  metal  than 
the  tin  they  appeared  to  be  at  first  sight. 

Before  reaching  their  destination  the  three  cars 
separated;  Sergeant  Grice's  car  going  on  down  the 
main  road  past  the  avenue;  drawing  up,  after  fol- 
lowing one  or  two  short  and  twisty  roads,  almost 
immediately  opposite  the  kitchen  garden  at  the  rear 
of  No.  121. 

Hunt's  car  followed  more  slowly,  turning  into  the 


198  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

avenue  itself,  and  continuing  down  it  at  the  same 
leisurely  gait. 

As  it  turned  from  the  main  road,  Hunt  noticed 
a  match-seller,  who  was  standing  in  the  gutter,  put 
his  thumb  up. 

"O.K.,"  observed  Whitfield,  in  the  best  talkie  style. 
"They're  there." 

It  was  more  than  a  coincidence  that,  as  they 
reached  a  point  just  opposite  No.  83,  the  supposed 
grocery  van  came  into  sight  at  the  other  end  of  the 
road.  It  was  a  distance  of  some  fifty  yards  from 
No.  83  to  No.  121,  and  from  the  latter  to  the  end 
of  the  avenue  another  fifty. 

The  timing  so  far  was  perfect,  and  Hunt  was 
comforted  to  know  that  by  the  time  they  reached 
the  doorway,  a  party,  some  eight  to  ten  strong, 
would  be  climbing  quickly  into  the  back  garden. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell,  the  cars  drew 
up  outside  the  house,  a  dozen  or  more  men  appear- 
ing in  the  roadway  as  if  by  magic. 

Whitfield  immediately  took  charge.  After  inef- 
fectively trying  the  bell,  he  knocked  authoritatively 
on  the  wooden  panel  of  the  door. 

Still  no  answer — the  house  was  as  silent  as  the 
night. 

After  a  moment  he  rapped  again.  "Open  in  the 
name  of  the  law!"  he  demanded. 

His  voice  brought  the  neighbours  to  their  doors. 
"Get  back  in,  and  stay  in,"  he  advised.  "There's 
going  to  be  trouble  here." 

Seeing  that  no  amount  of  knocking  was  going  to 
procure  the  opening  of  the  door,  he  beckoned  three 
of  his  men  forward. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  199 

"Down  with  it,"  he  said,  drawing  his  revolver  to 
cover  his  men  from  possible  attack. 

A  couple  of  hefty  barges  and  the  door  swung  open 
with  a  splintering  crash. 

The  hall  appeared  deserted,  so  Whitfield  beckoned 
all  but  four  of  his  men  forward. 

A  search  of  the  downstairs  rooms  was  of  no  avail ; 
a  betraying  cigarette  was  still  smouldering  in  an 
ash-tray,  but  the  birds  had  flown. 

Running  up  the  stairs  with  half  a  dozen  followers, 
Whitfield  flung  open  the  bedroom  doors.  But  the 
first  floor  too  was  deserted. 

There  only  remained  the  cellar  now.  It  was  there 
that  they  found  them,  every  one  of  the  men  Gas- 
coigne  had  named.  But  there  was  little  fight  in  the 
gang;  a  tame  ending  to  what  had  promised  to  be  a 
hair-raising  affair. 

In  a  very  short  time  the  prisoners  were  hand- 
cuffed and  brought  into  the  light  of  the  dining-room. 
They  refused  to  admit  that  they  had  met  to  dis- 
tribute dope,  strenuously  denying  Whitfield's  sug- 
gestion that  any  "snow"  was  concealed  in  the  house. 

This  left  the  police  no  choice  but  to  search  the 
premises.  It  was  some  little  time  before  the  pro- 
hibited drugs  came  to  light — stuffed  well  down  be- 
hind the  back  and  sides  of  a  divan. 

Without  the  finding  of  the  dope  the  police  had 
no  case  against  the  men,  but  the  discovery  of  it 
sealed  their  fate. 

And  the  men  knew  it.  "That  swine  Gascoigne 
betraying  his  mates  again,"  McKenzie  swore  under 
his  breath. 


200  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

But  Hunt,  who  had  remarkable  hearing,  caught 
the  sentence. 

"What  do  you  know  of  Gascoigne  ?"  he  demanded 
of  the  man. 

McKenzie  remained  dumb. 

"Do  you  hear?"  Hunt  stormed,  losing  his  temper 
at  the  sight  of  the  other's  insolent  stare.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  ogam?" 

But  still  no  answer.  McKenzie  apparently  was 
determined  not  to  speak. 

Just  then  the  detective  who  had  been  disguised 
as  a  match-seller  entered.  With  him,  hand-cuffed 
to  him  in  fact,  was  an  old  lag,  one  Wallace  Hayley. 

This  man,  Hunt  recalled,  had  long  been  a  sus- 
pected member  of  the  Chelsea  gang.  The  police  had 
"pulled  him  in"  on  more  than  one  occasion  lately, 
but  had  been  unable  to  prove  anything  against  him. 
If  he  was  actually  still  in  the  game,  it  seemed  he 
was  being  unusually  cautious,  for  he  had  managed 
to  keep  out  of  serious  trouble  for  at  least  four  years. 

"Saw  this  bird  trying  to  slink  by  the  top  of  the 
avenue,"  said  the  detective  laconically,  "and,  as  you 
told  me  to  keep  an  eye  open  for  suspicious  charac- 
ters, I  went  across  to  have  a  little  chat  with  him.  I 
didn't  altogether  like  his  manner,  so  I  suggested  a 
stroll  down  to  see  you,  Inspector.  He  didn't  like 
the  idea,  and  tried  to  get  funny,  so  I've  had  to  bring 
him  against  his  will." 

Whitfield  crossed  over  to  the  man.  It  was  obvious 
that  the  latter  was  perturbed. 

"What's  the  matter,  Wally  ?"  the  Inspector  began 
pleasantly.  "You  don't  usually  resent  my  presence 
as  much  as  this.  Perhaps  you've  something  in  your 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  201 

pocket  you  wouldn't  like  me  to  see;  eh?  Ix>ve-let- 
ters,  perhaps?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, Wally,  at  your  age — and  with  a  dear  trusting 
wife  at  home  too."  Hayley's  domestic  troubles  were 
well  known  to  the  Inspector. 

The  prisoner  turned  purple  with  rage  at  the  In- 
spector's bantering.  "I'll  stop  all  this,"  he  threat- 
ened. "Pulling  a  law-abiding  citizen  in  every  time 
he  happens  to  be  on  the  streets.  I'll  get  you  fired 
for  this,  Whitfield.  This  is  the  fourth  time  it's  hap- 
pened in  as  many  months.  I'll  see  the  Home  Secre- 
tary himself — you  mark  my  words." 

"Quit  likely  you  will,  Wally.  Quite  likely,"  re- 
plied Whitfield  calmly.  "He's  visiting  Wormwood 
Scrubs  over  the  week-end.  I  can  make  arrange- 
ments for  you  to  be  housed  there,  maybe,"  he  added 
thoughtfully.  "One  prison's  as  good  as  another 
these  days,  I'm  told." 

Hayley  was  more  livid  than  ever.  He  wrestled 
with  the  bracelets  in  a  futile  effort  to  get  free.  If 
looks  alone  could  kill,  Whitfield  was  as  good  as  dead. 

Then,  seeing  he  was  trapped,  he  abandoned  the 
struggle.  Flinging  himself  into  a  near-by  chair  (the 
detective  had  slipped  the  other  handcuff  on  to  him 
long  since),  he  lay  huddled,  almost  exhausted  by  the 
intensity  of  his  own  emotions.  "Now  do  your  worst, 
Whitfield,"  he  challenged  defiantly. 

"Look  him  over,  one  of  you,"  was  the  Inspector's 
answer. 

He  offered  no  further  resistance,  and  his  pockets 
were  gone  through  in  a  trice. 

This  time,  though,  he  was  caught  with  the  stuff. 


202  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

His  pockets  contained  more  dope  than  the  detectives 
had  found  in  the  settee. 

The  only  other  interesting  discovery  was, 
strangely  enough,  a  letter;  but  it  was  not  a  love- 
letter. 

Hunt  picked  it  up. 

It  appeared  to  be  in  code,  for  the  typewritten 
address  on  the  envelope  was  unreadable: 

Tr  Fyx  Pitx, 

XV.  Gyenm  Pinhj, 
Oljdhek. 

was  the  inscription  it  bore. 

The  single  sheet  inside  was  also  typewritten  and 
equally  mysterious.  It  was  impossible  to  understand 
a  word  of  what  was  written,  for  the  message  though 
short,  ran  as  follows: 

"F  rq  jq  xxoi  runu.  Zfr  tx  ec  xw  jxhh.  Z 
wz  wrg  jzxqz.  Vo  iru  pxt  ijy  xzt?  Nmu  jwbx 
hwi  fxu  qqi  itu  qci.  Qqo  ygxz  tqx  pjq  bip  jpz 
c  goz  txk  xtz.  Tnjz  fzqz  voir  j  ujxk  znzgu. 
Twxp  xgu  exhmz  ggwi.  Hxtx  muh  hp  x  qq?" 

As  soon  as  he  realised  that  he  was  merely  wasting 
time  in  attempting  to  solve  the  code  himself,  he  de- 
cided to  send  it  to  the  expert  at  the  Yard.  As  there 
seemed  quite  a  variety  of  letters,  he  had  no  doubts 
but  that  Sergeant  Headly  would  find  it  quite  a  sim- 
ple matter  to  decipher  the  message. 

Putting  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  he  crossed  over 
to  Whitfield.  "What's  the  programme  now,  Dick?" 
he  asked. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  203 

Whitfield  was  looking  thoughtfully  at  a  key  he 
had  picked  up  from  amongst  the  contents  of  Hay- 
ley's  pockets.  "Wally  hangs  out  in  the  next  road, 
I  believe.  What  about  a  look  over  his  premises?" 

"Yes,  by  all  means.    I'd  no  idea  he  lived  so  close." 

Five  minutes  later  found  them  in  No.  29  Westby 
Gardens. 

The  house  was  very  similar  in  build  to  the  one 
they  had  just  left,  but  it  was  furnished  in  a  more 
lavish  style.  Evidently  Wally  studied  his  personal 
comfort  to  a  remarkable  degree. 

The  search  here  for  dope  took  longer.  But  it  was 
well  worth  the  extra  trouble,  for  secreted  in  out-of- 
the-way  corners  of  the  villa  were  small  packets  of 
cocaine,  heroin,  and  other  prohibited  drugs. 

The  total  value  of  the  dope  discovered  Whitfield 
estimated  at  well  over  £5,000. 

Thinking  that  on  his  arrival  back  at  the  Yard  he 
would  find  Sergeant  Headly  had  taken  his  depar- 
ture, he  crossed  the  dining-room  to  a  little  table  on 
which  there  stood  a  typewriter.  An  accompanying 
note  would  ensure  the  speedy  decoding  on  the  mor- 
row, he  thought. 

Inserting  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  began:  "Inspector 
Hunt's  compliments.  He  would  be — "  And  there 
he  stopped,  for,  chancing  to  look  up,  the  following 
caught  his  eye:  Ztqcxwjip  Brtj'q  wifcgzfxtjq.  Bx 
mirgh  yx." 

In  a  flash  the  solution  came  to  him.  The  arms 
bearing  the  type  had  been  removed  and  others  sub- 
stituted. The  result  of  this  change-over  was  that 
the  letters  pressed  on  the  keyboard  did  not  print  the 


204  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

corresponding  letters  on  the  paper.  For  instance, 
he  saw  at  once  that  I  on  the  keyboard,  when  pressed, 
printed  Z.  Likewise,  H  printed  B. 

A  moment  more  and  he  had  grasped  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  this.  With  the  aid  of  the  machine  it 
should  be  possible  to  decode  the  mysterious  message 
himself.  The  thought  was  father  to  the  deed.  In 
a  very  short  time  he  had  pressed  the  keys  in  the  order 
given  in  the  coded  letter. 

Hardly  waiting  to  finish,  he  withdrew  the  sheet. 
To  his  disappointment,  instead  of  a  sensible  sentence, 
the  first  line  was  another  unreadable  jumble: 

"M  us  ts  eeyo  uaga.  Inu  ne  xp  ec  tedd.  I  ffi  cul 
tiesi,"  he  read. 

"The  wrong  typewriter,"  he  said  aloud,  "but  the 
right  system." 

Just  as  he  was  putting  it  aside,  the  letters  "I  ffi" 
caught  his  eye.  Something  seemed  familiar,  though 
unusual,  about  them. 

A  moment  more  and  their  meaning  stood  revealed. 
This  was  the  message,  but  the  words  were  purposely 
run  one  into  the  other  to  mislead. 

With  this  knowledge,  the  rest,  was  easy: 

"Must  see  you  again.  Unexpected  difficulties. 
If  you  are  not  being  watched,  come  as  soon  as 
possible.  Insert  short  reply  in  Evening  Times. 
If  you  state  vigilance  relaxed,  will  code  new  ad- 
dress," 

he  read. 

"Look  at  this,  Dick,"  he  called. 
Whitfield  obeyed,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  205 

"Great  Scot!"  he  ejaculated.  "There's  life  in 
the  old  gang  yet." 

"There  is  indeed,"  replied  Hunt ;  "a  man  who  loses 
a  quarter  of  a  million  in  one  night  isn't  going  to  give 
up  his  business,  even  although  it's  a  dying  business, 
without  a  struggle." 


XX 
THE  RED  HOUSE 

SHORTLY  before  ten  o'clock  Hunt  arrived  at  the 
rendezvous  close  to  the  Yard,  where  the  Chief  Con- 
stable and  Walker  awaited  him. 

He  was  obviously  excited,  and  carried,  the  others 
noticed,  a  small  case,  which  they  thought  contained 
a  gramophone. 

"Going  to  give  us  an  entertainment,  Inspector?" 
asked  Walker. 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt,  putting  down  the  case. 
"Hardly  the  kind  of  entertainment  you're  expect- 
ing, Superintendent,  though — but  an  entertainment 
all  the  same." 

In  as  few  words  as  possible  he  told  them  of  the 
events  of  the  evening,  the  raid  on  the  house  in  the 
avenue,  the  arrest  of  the  traffickers,  the  detaining 
of  the  man  Hayley,  and  the  subsequent  discovery  of 
the  coded  letter. 

Then  he  sprung  his  surprise.  He  had,  he  said, 
discovered  the  decoding  machine  at  Hayley's  house 
and  had  brought  it  along  with  him. 

Here  he  paused,  and  produced  the  decoded  mes- 
sage. "Take  a  look  at  this,  sir,"  he  said  to  the 
Chief  Constable,  "and  tell  me  who  you  think  the 
sender  is." 

It  was  Walker  who  was  the  first  to  answer.  He 
had  risen,  and  stood  looking  over  the  Chief  Con- 
stable's shoulder. 

206 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  207 

"Evans,"  he  said  excitedly.  "Evans,  without  a 
doubt." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Major  Williams.  "It  certainly 
looks  as  though  it  might  be  our  man.  Whoever  it 
is,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  trap  him  fairly  easily  now 
we  know  the  code." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt.  "We  ought.  That's  why 
I  brought  the  typewriter  here.  I  want  you  two  to 
help  me  to  compose  an  advertisement  for  insertion 
in  the  Evening  Times." 

He  started  to  unpack  the  machine.  "How  do  you 
think  this  will  do?"  he  asked.  "'Police  vigilance 
relaxed.  Will  endeavour  to  keep  any  appointment.' 
Better  make  it  as  brief  as  possible,  don't  you  think?" 

"Yes.  That'll  do  fine,"  agreed  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. 

Inserting  a  piece  of  paper  in  the  machine,  Hunt 
set  to  work.  He  tapped  out  the  mystic  letters — 

"Ci  gzw  xkzn  zgut  wxpx.    G  oexhmz  ggx  thxuk 
ir  pj.     I  dx  xcu  toucc  iztj  fx  tj" — 

all  jumbled  together,  as  seemed  to  be  the  gangs' 
practise. 

"I'll  take  this  down  to  the  Evening  Times  my- 
self," he  remarked,  "and  make  sure  it  gets  put  in. 
The  person  this  is  meant  for  will  never  know  that 
his  plans  have  miscarried  and  his  message  has  been 
intercepted,  as  I  have  given  orders  that  Hayley's 
arrest  is  to  be  kept  a  close  secret — at  any  rate  until 
we've  got  our  reply." 

"I  suppose  we've  nothing  more  to  do  until  then?" 
commented  Walker. 


208  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"I  hardly  agree  with  you  there,  Superintendent," 
answered  Hunt.  "I  don't  intend  to  rely  too  much 
on  my  assumption  that  any  reply  we  get  will  come 
from  Evans.  At  any  rate,  I  intend  to  keep  up  the 
search.  By  the  way,  how  did  you  two  get  on  at 
Kingston  this  afternoon?" 

It  transpired  that  they  had  had  no  luck  at  all. 
No  one  appeared  to  remember  anyone  answering  the 
description  of  either  Evans  or  his  wife. 

"Well,  as  there  doesn't  seem  anything  else  we  can 
do  to-night,  I'm  off  to  bed  to  get  as  much  sleep  as 
possible — there's  no  telling  if  we  shall  get  the  chance 
for  any  to-morrow  night." 

So  saying,  the  Inspector  took  his  departure,  after 
wishing  them  both  a  very  good  night. 

The  next  morning  found  Hunt  early  at  the  Eve- 
ning Times  office.  By  presenting  his  official  card, 
he  speedily  obtained  an  interview  with  the  advertise- 
ment manager.  Less  than  ten  minutes  later  he  left 
the  building,  assured  that  the  advertisement  would 
be  inserted  in  the  first  edition. 

The  remainder  of  that  day  was  spent  in  a  fruit- 
less search  of  the  hotels,  and  he  was  not  sorry  when 
bed-time  came  round  once  more.  He  could  look  for- 
ward with  hopefulness  to  the  morrow,  for  he  felt 
confident  that  the  Evening  Times  would  contain  the 
hoped-for  answer  to  his  advertisement. 

Another  good  night's  rest,  and  he  awoke  in  the 
best  of  spirits. 

He  had  left  instructions  that  the  Evening  Times 
were  to  'phone  him  immediately  the  expected  mes- 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  209 

sage  was  sent  in.  But  when  ten  o'clock,  the  time 
after  which  no  further  advertisements  could  be  guar- 
anteed insertion  in  the  same  day's  issue,  had  come 
and  gone  without  the  hoped-for  result,  his  mood 
changed  for  one  of  angry  desperation. 

But  it  did  not  alter  the  facts;  his  trap  had  seem- 
ingly failed. 

All  through  that  day — the  longest  day  that  he 
had  ever  endured,  it  seem  to  Hunt — he  fumed  and 
fretted,  though  working  like  a  Trojan  on  his  in- 
quiries at  the  hotels  the  while. 

Then  to  bed,  and  a  restless,  disturbed  night,  as 
he  turned  the  case  over  again  and  again,  in  his  mind. 
Once  more,  for  what  must  have  been  the  hundredth 
time,  he  lived  through  his  discoveries.  He  visualised 
again  that  scene  in  which  he  had  seen  the  body  of 
the  murdered  air-ace  taken  from  the  burned-out 
wreckage  of  his  "Moth."  Then  followed  visions  of 
the  search  for  clues  by  the  body  of  the  shot  police 
constable  in  Redstock  Lane ;  the  resultant  inquests ; 
the  inquiries  he  had  made  in  the  company  of  the 
Chief  Constable  and  Superintendent,  first  at  Moor- 
lands, and  later,  at  Forest  Court;  the  unexpected 
discovery  that  the  Bentley's  front  tire  had  been  cut 
in  a  manner  similar  to  that  of  the  tire  of  the  car 
that  had  stopped  by  the  body  in  Redstock  Lane ;  the 
hue  and  cry  for,  and  subsequent  breath-taking  chase 
and  arrest  of,  the  mechanic,  Bailey;  the  midnight 
appearance  of  the  new  baronet,  Sir  Henry  Sandle- 
son,  at  Forest  Court,  and  the  still-unsolved  mystery 
of  his  astounding  and  almost  immediate  disappear- 
ance from  his  bedroom;  the  astonishing  plea  for  all 
editions  of  the  local  papers  that  the  suspected  me- 

ii  Li          \  1  t« 

WITOHN  Two  WEBKS 


210  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

chanic  had  made  from  the  dock,  to  be  followed  later 
by  his  statement  that  the  dead  prison-breaker,  New- 
ton, was  his  ne'er-do-well  brother. 

Next  he  recalled  to  mind  the  Chief  Constable's 
acceptable  theory  that  the  single  set  of  prints  in 
Angels'  meadow,  that  had  provided  food  for  so  much 
serious  thought,  had  been  made  by  Evans  carrying 
his  wife ;  the  arrival  at  the  police  station  of  Captain 
Matthews,  the  skipper  of  the  Poole  fishing  smack, 
with  his  news  of  the  sinking  of  Evans'  empty  'plane ; 
the  story  of  the  Evanses  being  seen  at  their  riverside 
bungalow  by  the  salmon-poacher,  Birch;  the  revela- 
tion that  Sir  Charles  Stafford  had  been  the  "Boss" 
of  the  Tottenham  Court  Road  gang  of  dope  traf- 
fickers ;  the  arrest  of  the  remaining  members  of  that 
infamous  company  that  followed  as  a  result  of  Claude 
Gascoigne's  visit  to  the  Yard;  and  finally,  his  own 
share  in  the  discovery  and  decoding  of  the  letter 
found  in  the  breast-pocket  of  the  notorious  drug- 
trafficker,  Hayley. 

At  last  came  morning,  and  with  it  the  first  of  a 
chain  of  events  that  were  to  lead  to  a  finale  Hunt 
was  destined  to  carry  in  his  memory  to  the  grave. 

At  eight  o'clock  he  received  a  'phone  call  from  the 
Evening  Times.  A  coded  advertisement  had  been 
handed  in.  It  had  obviously  been  delivered  by  hand, 
as  the  envelope  was  unstamped. 

The  clerk  read  out  the  letters:  "J  itz  nbju  jxg. 
Xkx  tpxhb  ir  qxb  utg  xoqjug  y  utq." 

Hunt  immediately  ran  them  out  on  the  machine. 
The  result  was  most  satisfactory:  "To-night  at 
eleven.  Red  House,  Hanley,  St.  Albans,"  was  what 
was  written  on  the  sheet. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  211 

The  thoroughly  happy  Inspector  lost  no  time  in 
getting  over  to  the  hotel  where  the  Chief  Constable 
and  Walker  were  staying,  and  letting  them  know 
of  this  latest  development. 

Walker  seemed  anxious  to  get  the  matter  over, 
and  was  keen  on  going  to  St.  Albans  straight  away ; 
the  Chief  Constable,  however,  agreed  with  Hunt  that 
it  would  be  better  to  wait  till  evening,  keep  the  ap- 
pointment, and  take  them  unawares. 

This  course  was  eventually  decided  upon,  so  Hunt 
suggested  a  visit  to  the  Yard  to  have  a  look  at  an 
ordnance  survey  map  of  the  St.  Albans  district. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  trio  were  in  Hunt's  little 
office  at  the  Yard. 

The  Red  House  was  clearly  shown — an  isolated 
residence  a  good  half-mile  from  the  viUage  of  Han- 
ley. 

"What's  the  order  of  attack,  Inspector?"  asked 
the  Chief  Constable.  "Do  we  tackle  the  job  our- 
selves, or  call  in  the  help  of  a  squad  of  your  men?" 

Hunt  thought  for  a  moment.  "If  you're  game, 
sir,  I  propose  we  tackle  the  job  alone." 

Just  after  eight  o'clock  they  set  off  in  the  Chief 
Constable's  car  to  St.  Albans,  where  they  intended 
to  wait  until  nightfall  before  continuing  out  to  re- 
connoitre in  the  vicinity  of  the  Red  House. 

The  journey  down  took  less  than  an  hour,  and 
they  adjourned  to  a  hotel  until  closing  time. 

At  10.30  they  reached  the  village,  where  they 
looked  up  the  police  constable. 

He  was  able  to  tell  them  that  a  lady  and  gentle- 


212  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

man,  whom  he  had  not  seen  before,  were  staying  at 
the  house. 

The  house  belonged  to  a  gentleman  from  Town, 
who  only  came  down  at  week-ends.  He  was  not  there 
now,  but  he  had  left  his  car  for  his  guests  to  use. 

The  only  other  occupant  of  the  house  was  the 
elderly  housekeeper,  a  stupid,  slovenly  old  woman. 

The  constable  could  not  understand  why  Mr.  Wat- 
kins  put  up  with  such  an  unsatisfactory  menial,  as 
he  seemed  such  a  smart  gentleman  himself. 

After  a  short  discussion  it  was  decided  that,  as 
Evans  would  most  probably  open  the  door  in  person, 
the  best  plan  would  be  for  the  three  to  spring  upon 
him  without  giving  him  a  second's  warning. 

At  two  minutes  to  eleven  their  car  stood  on  the 
brow  of  a  slight  dip,  facing  the  Red  House,  which 
was  some  three  hundred  yards  distant. 

"Are  we  ready?"  inquired  the  Chief  Constable. 

"O.K.,"  replied  Hunt  and  Walker  of  one  accord. 

The  lights  of  the  car  had  long  since  been  extin- 
guished. The  Chief  Constable  released  the  brake, 
and  the  car  slowly  began  the  long,  silent  glide  down 
to  the  house. 

Two  minutes  later  they  drew  up  noiselessly  outside 
their  destination. 

They  stepped  out  and  began  the  short  walk  up 
the  dark,  shrubbery-bordered  drive  to  the  front  door. 
The  front  of  the  house,  they  noticed,  was  in  dark- 
ness. 

Going  into  the  porch,  Hunt  saw  that  there  was  no 
bell — only  a  heavy  brass  knocker. 

This  he  raised,  and  the  sound  of  its  falling  rever- 
berated throughout  the  whole  house. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  213 

Almost  immediately  shuffling  footsteps  could  be 
heard  coming  along  the  passage  to  the  door.  Evi- 
dently visitors  were  expected. 

But,  to  the  officials'  disappointment,  it  was  neither 
Evans  nor  his  wife  who  opened  it.  It  was  the  half- 
witted housekeeper. 

"You  the  genleman  what's  come  to  see  Mr.  Wat- 
kins'  friend?"  she  began;  then,  seeing  the  others, 
she  realised  that  something  was  wrong,  and  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  shut  the  door  in  their  faces. 

But  she  was  too  late.  Hunt  was  already  half  in- 
side the  hall,  the  Chief  Constable  at  his  heels,  whilst 
Walker  was  left  to  deal  with  the  indignant  house- 
keeper, who  suddenly  became  vicious  as  well  as  an- 
noyed. 

Walker,  however,  realising  that  this  was  no  time 
to  stand  on  ceremony,  clapped  a  massive  hand  over 
her  none  too  comely  mouth. 

These  evolutions  took  place  so  quickly  and  noise- 
lessly that  any  occupants  of  the  house  could  have 
had  no  warning  to  be  on  their  guard. 

Seeing  that  Walker  was  more  than  capable  of 
managing  the  struggling  female,  Hunt  and  the  Chief 
Constable  passed  rapidly  down  the  hall  to  a  door, 
from  under  which  a  faint  glimmer  of  >  light  was  vis- 
ible. 

The  Inspector  threw  open  this  door,  entering  the 
room  unconcernedly — but  in  his  hand  was  a  small 
black  automatic,  and  his  finger  was  in  readiness  on 
the  trigger. 

The  room  had  only  one  occupant,  an  elderly-look- 
ing lady,  her  grey  hair  fast  turning  white.  On  her 
nose  reposed  a  pair  of  tinted  horn-rimmed  spectacles, 


214  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

and  her  dress,  Hunt  noticed,  was  many  years  behind 
the  fashion. 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  as  he  opened  the  door, 
but  her  smile  of  welcome  turned  to  an  expression 
of  utter  dismay  when  she  saw  who  her  unannounced 
visitors  were. 

Hunt  started  to  pocket  the  weapon  as  soon  as  he 
saw  that  Evans  was  not  in  the  room,  advancing  to- 
wards the  terror-stricken  woman  the  while. 

"Mrs.  Evans,  I  believe,"  he  said  sternly.  "I  hold 
a  warrant  for  your  arrest  on  a  charge  of  being  con- 
cerned in  the  murder  of  Sir  Charles  Stafford  at  Red- 
stock  on  the — " 

But  he  got  no  further. 

With  a  crash,  the  unconscious  form  of  the  Chief 
Constable  hit  the  floor  alongside  him,  sending  the 
revolver  flying  from  his  hand. 

That  he  saw,  but  no  more,  for  at  that  instant  the 
light  went  out,  and,  before  his  eyes  could  accustom 
themselves  to  the  inky  darkness,  something  struck 
him  violently  in  the  back,  sending  him  headlong 
under  the  table. 


XXI 

WHICH  OUGHT  TO  HAVE  BEEN 
CONCLUSION 

AFTER  what  seemed  an  age,  the  half-winded  Inspec- 
tor managed  to  get  his  bearings,  and  started  to  crawl 
slowly  towards  the  door. 

But,  before  he  had  covered  half  the  distance,  some- 
one stumbled  over  him.  Throwing  out  his  arms, 
more  by  instinct  than  with  expectations  of  making  a 
capture,  they  came  in  contact  with  the  body  of  the 
woman  he  took  to  be  Mrs.  Evans.  She  struggled 
violently,  and  managed  to  break  free  for  an  instant. 

The  Inspector  made  another  blind  grab  and,  more 
by  luck  than  judgment,  caught  her  again,  this  time 
by  the  hair. 

A  blood-curdling  shriek  rent  the  uncanny  silence 
of  the  house  as,  realising  that  she  was  trapped,  she 
let  out  a  piercing  scream. 

Then,  in  spite  of  the  intense  pain  it  must  have 
cost  her,  she  redoubled  her  efforts  to  escape. 

Hunt  started  to  rise  to  his  feet,  seeking  to  get  a 
firm  grip  of  her  body  with  his  free  hand. 

Just  then,  though,  her  efforts  proved  successful, 
for  the  wig  she  was  wearing  came  off  in  the  Inspec- 
tor's hand,  and  a  moment  later,  before  Hunt  had  a 
chance  to  stop  her,  she  fled  through  the  door  to 
safety. 

"Look  out!"  he  bawled  to  the   Superintendent, 

215 


216  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

who,  he  supposed,  was  still  somewhere  in  the  gloom 
of  the  hall.  "Stop  her,  for  the  love  of  Mike." 

But  no  answer  came,  and  he  heard  her  pass  out 
unchallenged  on  to  the  gravel  drive. 

He  realised  at  once  that  the  Evanses  had  been  too 
clever  for  him,  and  had  somehow  got  wind  of  their 
arrival.  He  guessed  that  Evans  himself  had  been 
watching  from  the  shelter  of  one  of  the  upstairs  win- 
dows, timing  his  attack  with  commendable  exactness. 

And  he  saw,  too,  that  he  was  in  a  desperate  posi- 
tion himself,  for  Evans  apparently  had  not  yet  left 
the  house.  He  could  hardly  suppress  a  shudder  at 
the  thought  that  he  might  at  that  moment  be  cov- 
ered by  the  murderer's  revolver,  and  shot  in  cold 
blood  before  help  could  reach  him. 

Feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  flashlamp,  he  with- 
drew it,  meaning  to  search  for  his  revolver.  Find- 
ing it  at  last,  he  switched  it  on — but  no  beam  of  light 
answered  the  action.  It  was  obvious  that  the  bulb 
had  been  broken  in  his  fall. 

With  a  muffled  curse  he  slipped  it  back  into  his 
pocket,  and  started  to  grope  for  his  gun  on  the  floor. 
But  it  was  of  no  avail ;  he  was  unable  to  discover  its 
whereabouts. 

Abandoning  his  search,  and  cursing  his  folly  in 
suggesting  coming  to  the  house  without  a  proper 
escort,  he  crept  slowly  over  to  where  the  injured 
Chief  Constable  lay. 

He  was  completely  knocked  out,  Hunt  found,  but 
was  breathing  strongly.  It  would  only  be  a  matter 
of  minutes  before  he  regained  consciousness. 

He  decided  to  risk  striking  a  match  to  make  a 
quick  examination  of  his  injuries. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  217 

He  saw  by  its  feeble  light  that  the  room  was 
empty.  He  was  in  no  immediate  danger,  it  seemed. 

Then  with  a  hurried  glance  he  took  in  the  Chief 
Constable's  injuries.  He  had  evidently  been  dealt 
a  savage  blow  with  a  stick,  or  more  probably,  the 
butt  end  of  a  revolver,  for  there  were  no  signs  of 
blood — only  a  fast-swelling  bruise. 

As  the  last  flicker  of  the  match  died  out,  Hunt 
heard  the  front  door  slam,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
sound  of  a  car  engine  being  started  up  in  the  road. 
And  he  recognised  the  car  by  its  exhaust  note;  it 
was  the  Chief  Constable's,  beyond  doubt. 

Instantly,  regardless  of  the  danger,  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  and,  without  further  thought  for  his  gun, 
ran  out  through  the  hall  to  the  door. 

In  front  of  him,  some  little  distance  down  the 
drive,  he  heard,  rather  than  saw,  a  running  figure. 

Without  the  loss  of  a  moment,  he  realised  that  if 
he  was  to  catch  his  man  he  would  have  to  resort  to 
strategy. 

The  fugitive  was  too  far  ahead  for  him  to  over- 
take him  before  he  reached  the  car;  his  only  hope 
was  to  reach  a  point  a  few  yards  down  the  road  be- 
fore the  car  passed,  and  attempt  to  leap  on  to  the 
running-board. 

Turning  aside  from  the  drive,  he  forced  his  way 
through  the  shrubbery,  raced  across  a  small  lawn 
and,  after  scrambling  over  a  low  hedge,  landed  in 
a  meadow  on  the  other  side. 

A  sprint  of  a  hundred  yards  brought  him,  as  he 
had  hoped,  to  a  point  in  the  road  where  he  would 
still  have  time  to  attempt  to  intercept  the  car. 

As  he  dragged  himself  clear  of  some  barbed  wire 


218  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

by  the  simple,  but  expensive,  method  of  leaving  part 
of  his  clothing  behind  him,  Major  Williams'  bus 
roared  by,  its  engine  shrieking  its  heart  out  in  the 
lower  gears. 

Luckily,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  Mrs. 
Evans  had  forgotten  to  switch  the  lights  on,  so  both 
she  and  her  husband  failed  to  notice  the  Inspector 
crouched  by  the  hedge. 

By  the  time  that  she  had  rectified  this  omission, 
Hunt  had  managed  to  gauge  his  spring,  and  had 
landed  safely,  though  uncomfortably,  on  the  lug- 
gage carrier  at  the  rear. 

He  clung  to  his  precarious  perch  until  the  car 
was  running  smoothly  in  top  gear,  then  started  to 
climb  as  carefully  and  silently  as  possible  towards 
the  back  seat. 

After  one  breathless  moment,  when  Evans  looked 
round,  apparently  to  see  if  they  were  being  pursued, 
his  task  was  easy. 

Once  safely  over  the  back  of  the  car  he  dropped 
to  the  floor  where,  shielded  from  view  by  the  back 
of  the  front  seat,  he  had  time  to  wonder  what  his 
next  move  was  to  be.  So  far  he  had  not  given  the 
matter  much  thought,  and  he  now  began  to  doubt 
his  wisdom  in  embarking  on  this  uninvited  ride. 

He  decided  that  if  he  did  not  act  until  the  car 
came  to  a  standstill  he  would  run  less  risk,  as  Mrs. 
Evans,  if  startled  while  driving,  would  be  quite  likely 
to  lose  her  head  and  turn  the  car  over. 

The  next  question  was,  what  weapon  did  he  in- 
tend to  use?  For  all  he  knew,  Mrs.  Evans  might 
be  in  possession  of  a  gun  and,  whilst  he  was  taking 
Evans,  she  might  easily  hold  him  up. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  219 

All  things  considered,  it  would  be  best  for  him 
to  see  if  he  could  find  a  tire-lever,  or  something 
equally  heavy,  with  which  to  lay  out  his  man  tem- 
porarily before  re-arresting  Mrs.  Evans. 

Thinking  there  might  be  a  suitable  weapon  in  the 
tool-kit  under  the  rear  seat,  he  began  to  turn  the 
cushion  up.  Inch  by  inch  it  gently  rose,  until,  at 
last,  he  was  able  to  see  that  there  was  indeed  a  tire- 
lever  there. 

Slowly  he  extended  his  arm  to  reach  it.  But  at 
that  moment  Evans  turned  again — and  this  time  he 
discovered  his  unwelcome  passenger. 

With  an  oath  he  left  his  seat  beside  the  driver, 
flinging  himself  heavily  on  top  of  the  unsuspecting 
Inspector. 

His  weight  knocked  Hunt  flat  on  the  floor  and, 
before  the  startled  polide  officer  could  rise  to  defend 
himself,  the  murderer's  strong,  sinuous  hands  were 
about  his  throat. 

The  car  was  going  much  faster  now  than  pre- 
viously ;  Mrs.  Evans'  nerves  were  finding  the  sudden 
shocks  too  much  for  them. 

Had  she  not  accelerated  from  a  steady  thirty-five 
to  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  fifty-five,  the 
story  might  have  had  an  entirely  different  ending, 
as  Hunt  was  decidedly  getting  much  the  worst  of 
the  argument  when  the  car  took  a  small,  hump- 
backed bridge  in  its  stride. 

This  threw  the  back  of  the  car,  and  the  struggling 
combatants,  high  into  the  air,  and  when  they  hit  the 
bottom  again  Hunt's  throat  was  free  and  he  was  on 
top. 

But  his  opponent  was  not  done  yet.     He  fought 


220  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

with  redoubled  fury,  seemingly  possessed  of  maniacal 
strength. 

Inch  by  inch  he  forced  Hunt  back,  till  at  length 
they  were  fighting  on  the  seat  itself. 

Still  the  car  shot  on  madly  through  the  night, 
Mrs.  Evans  glancing  back  from  time  to  time,  noting 
with  satisfaction  that  her  man  was  slowly,  but  surely 
winning.  And  there  was  none  to  see  the  fight  to 
the  death  that  was  taking  place  at  her  rear,  for  the 
road  they  traversed  led  through  open  country  to- 
wards Harpenden,  and  was  entirely  deserted. 

The  Inspector  fought  valiantly,  but  in  vain — he 
had  been  hurt  more  than  he  realised  by  his  fall  at 
the  house.  Little  by  little  the  relentless  arms  of  his 
adversary  pushed  him  back — till  soon  he  was  in  im- 
minent danger  of  being  forced  over  the  folded  hood 
at  the  rear  of  the  car  and  into  the  roadway  to  almost 
certain  death. 

Another  minute  and  the  tired  Inspector  would 
have  been  clay  in  the  other's  hands;  his  strength 
was  all  but  exhausted.  Evans  could  have  killed  him 
almost  without  resistance. 

But  in  that  minute  came  salvation.  Suddenly  the 
even  running  of  the  car  changed. 

Whilst  rounding  a  bend  in  the  road,  Mrs.  Evans 
had  seen  the  red  lights  and  closed  gates  of  a  railway 
level  crossing — and  she  had  realised  that  it  Was  going 
to  be  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  pull  up,  for  the 
speedometer  registered  a  speed  of  a  mile  a  minute. 

With  a  squeal  of  its  brakes  the  car  shot  sideways 
in  a  terrific  skid,  ramming  and  almost  mounting  the 
bank  at  the  side  of  the  road. 

But  it  did  not  overturn,  though  the  shock  of  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  221 

impact  burst  two  tires,  and  sent  Evans  and  the  In- 
spector hurtling  into  the  road. 

The  last  thing  Hunt  remembered  before  losing 
consciousness  was  seeing  the  car,  with  Mrs.  Evans 
helpless  at  the  wheel,  crash  through  the  gates  before 
coming  to  a  standstill,  right  in  the  track  of  the  ap- 
proaching London-bound  express. 

But  he  did  not  hear,  as  did  the  crossing-keeper, 
the  blood-curdling  shriek  of  the  express's  whistle, 
nor  the  agonised  death-screams  of  Mrs.  Evans,  as 
the  engine  caught  the  car,  carrying  it  some  distance 
up  the  line  before  flinging  it  aside,  a  mass  of  twisted 
metal. 

•  •••••• 

Hunt  recovered  consciousness  about  an  hour  after 
the  accident.  Everything  was  hazy  at  first,  and  in 
his  dazed  state  he  could  not  understand  why  he  was 
in  hospital,  with  an  anxious-looking  Chief  Constable 
standing  by  his  bedside. 

His  head  was  aching  too;  almost  unbearably. 
This  puzzled  him  for  a  time,  as  he  had  no  recollec- 
tion of  being  wounded.  Then  suddenly  it  all  came 
back. 

"Where's  Evans?"  was  the  first  question  he  asked. 
"Did  you  get  him?" 

The  Chief  Constable  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he 
said  sadly.  "We  didn't  get  him. — I'm  afraid  we've 
made  a  sorry  mess  of  the  whole  affair.  Evans  must 
have  seen  us  coming  up  the  drive." 

"You  all  right?"  Hunt  inquired. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Chief  Constable.  "I  only  got 
a  slight  tap  on  the  head.  Evans  must  have  slipped 


222  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

out  of  the  back  door  when  he  saw  us  coming,  at- 
tacking Walker  first  as  he  was  silencing  the  house- 
keeper. He's  only  got  a  slight  tap,  though.  He'll 
soon  be  all  right  again.  Next  he  coshed  me — that's 
the  last  thing  I  remember. 

"Later,  when  I'd  recovered  sufficiently  to  get  my 
bearings,  I  discovered  that  they  had  taken  my  car. 
I  went  back  to  the  house,  and  found  Walker  was 
well  enough  to  set  out  with  me  in  search  of  you.  We 
guessed  you'd  managed  somehow  to  get  mixed  up  in 
the  disappearance  of  the  car. 

"Well,  we  hadn't  gone  far  down  the  road — we  saw 
by  the  car-tracks  that  was  the  way  you  had  gone — 
when  we  saw  the  lights  of  a  fast  overtaking  car. 

"We  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  waving  our 
hats,  forcing  the  car  to  a  standstill,  despite  its  pro- 
longed horn-blowing. 

"We  soon  discovered,  to  our  surprise,  that  it  was 
an  ambulance  on  its  way  to  a  level-crossing  a  little 
farther  on,  where  a  car  had  crashed  through  the 
gates,  killing  the  lady  driver  and  badly  injuring  her 
companion. 

"When  we  told  the  doctor  who  had  given  us  this 
information  who  we  were,  he  immediately  offered  to 
drive  us  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster. 

"We  accepted,  of  course,  and  that  is  how  we  came 
to  find  you  unconscious  in  the  signalman's  cabin. 

"The  doctor  was  soon  able  to  assure  us  that  you 
were  only  stunned  and  shaken,  so  we  left  you  there 
to  go  with  him  to  inspect  the  wreckage  of  my  car 
and  the  body  of  Mrs.  Evans. 

"The  express  had  luckily  not  been  derailed  by  the 
severe  impact,  but  my  Sunbeam  was  reduced  to  scrap 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  223 

iron.  As  the  train  had  been  travelling  at  a  good 
seventy  miles  an  hour,  and  had  caught  the  car  broad- 
side on,  this  was  not  surprising. 

"Mrs.  Evans'  body  had  been  taken  from  the  debris 
before  we  arrived.  Death  had  been  practically  in- 
stantaneous." He  did  not  attempt  to  describe  the 
terrible  injuries  he  had  seen  on  her  mangled  body. 
Hunt  had  sufficient  imagination  to  visualise  them. 

"Walker  and  I  are  both  agreed  that  it  was  the 
body  of  Mrs.  Evans  beyond  doubt.  But  there  was 
no  sign  of  Evans.  How  he  managed  to  escape  is  a 
mystery  to  me." 

Hunt  was  able  to  supply  the  missing  reason. 
"When  we  fell,  I  bore  the  brunt  of  the  impact,"  he 
explained.  "My  body  must  have  saved  him;  prob- 
ably he  was  not  even  stunned." 

"We  had  a  thorough  look  round  for  him,  any- 
way," continued  the  Chief  Constable,  "but,  as  I  said, 
we  were  unable  to  find  any  traces  of  him." 

"Well,  if  it's  any  consolation  to  us,  we  know  for 
certain  now  that  we're  on  the  right  track.  That's 
about  the  only  good  that  has  come  of  the  night's 
work." 

A  doctor  came  up  just  then;  the  nurse  had  told 
him  that  his  patient  had  regained  consciousness. 

"Feeling  better,  old  man?"  he  queried. 

Hunt  assured  him  that  he  was  feeling  O.K.,  which 
was  very  far  from  the  truth.  "I  suppose  I  can  get 
up  now?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  you  propose  doing  if  you  get  up?"  the 
doctor  replied. 

Hunt  considered  for  a  moment.  "I  must  get  back 
to  the  Yard,"  he  said.  "I  shall  get  in  enough  trouble 


224  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

as  it  is.     Every  hour's  start  that  Evans  gets  will 
make  our  task  the  harder." 

The  doctor  considered  for  a  moment.  "Righto, 
Inspector,"  he  said  at  length.  "Have  it  your  own 
way — but  if  I  have  given  in,  you  must  promise  me 
you'll  take  things  easy  for  a  day  or  two." 


XXII 
HUNT  SEES  DAYLIGHT 

A  WEEK  later  Evans  was  still  at  large;  the  police 
had  no  clue  as  to  his  whereabouts,  and  the  Press  had 
almost  forgotten  the  murder  of  Sir  Charles. 

Hunt  was  in  the  office  of  the  Chief  Commissioner, 
a  considerably  rattled  man. 

He  was  reminding  Sir  James  Spreadbury  for  the 
twentieth  time  that  he  had  only  himself  to  blame 
that  the  case  had  not  been  cleared  up  long  ago. 

But  Sir  James  was  not  blaming  the  Inspector  for 
the  unsatisfactory  ending  of  it;  he  quite  understood 
that  it  was  only  human  nature  that  had  made  the 
trio  feel  they  ought  to  be  allowed  to  effect  the  arrests 
without  the  calling  in  of  the  Flying  Squad. 

"You're  taking  it  to  heart  too  much,  my  boy,"  he 
said,  in  a  kindly  manner.  He  could  be  very  under- 
standing and  human  at  times.  "You  surely  haven't 
given  up  hope  so  soon,  have  you?" 

Hunt  smiled  grimly.  "No.  I'm  going  to  bring 
this  case  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion,  even  if  it  takes 
me  all  my  life." 

"That's  the  spirit,  Inspector.  Let's  pray  that  it 
doesn't  take  all  that  long,  though,"  the  Chief  re- 
plied. "Now,  what  was  that  other  little  matter  you 
wanted  me  to  look  into?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I'd  almost  forgotten.  Are  those  two 
men  still  trailing  Gascoigne?" 

225 


226  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Why,  yes,"  the  Chief  replied,  "but  nothing  fresh 
has  come  to  light.  I  think  you're  putting  a  wrong 
construction  on  McKenzie's  words.  I'm  pretty  cer- 
tain he  meant  'his  friends  again'  to  apply  to  Gas- 
coigne  getting  friendly  with  him  just  before  his 
arrest.  Possibly  it  flashed  across  his  mind  at  that 
moment  who  his  betrayer  was.  I  don't  think  you 
will  find  Gascoigne  is  a  member  of  the  gang — what 
sense  would  there  be  in  his  giving  his  own  men 
away  ?" 

"I  must  admit,  sir,"  answered  Hunt,  "that  that 
is  one  of  the  many  things  that  are  still  puzzling  me. 
The  case  is  full  of  loose  ends;  in  fact,  although  we 
know  our  man  without  a  doubt,  we  are  a  long  way 
off  discovering  the  motive  for  Sir  Charles'  murder. 

"It  couldn't  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  Sir 
Charles  was  ruining  him;  even  if  Sir  Charles  had 
effectively  stopped  his  income,  we  know  it  could  not 
have  seriously  inconvenienced  him.  The  discovery 
of  the  quarter  of  a  million  proves  that. 

"It  could  not  have  been  love.  Evans  was  mar- 
ried, apparently  happily.  Besides,  the  participation 
of  Mrs.  Evans  proves  that — she  would  hardly  have 
been  likely  to  help  her  husband  kill  her  lover.  And 
we  know  that  she  did  help — her  behaviour  on  the 
night  she  met  her  death  was  that  of  a  guilty  woman. 

"Then,  too,  there's  the  mystery  of  the  appearance 
and  disappearance  of  Sir  Henry  Sandleson.  Where 
do  we  fit  that  in  the  puzzle?" 

"I  admit  it's  a  teaser  still,"  replied  Sir  James, 
"but  I  think  the  solution,  when  it  comes,  will  prove 
to  be  quite  a  simple  one." 

By  the  Chief's  manner  Hunt  could  tell  that  the 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  227 

interview  was  at  an  end.  He  rose  to  go.  "You'll 
let  me  know  if  Gascoigne  gets  up  to  any  funny 
tricks?  I  can't  help  thinking  that  letter  was  meant 
for  him." 

"Certainly,"  the  Chief  answered,  "I'll  let  you  know 
immediately." 

•  •••••• 

Hunt  arrived  back  at  Bournemouth  just  after 
midday;  his  journey  down  was  his  record  one.  He 
had  not  been  to  "The  City  of  the  Pines"  since  the 
day  of  his  hurried  departure  for  Winchester,  having 
spent  his  time  in  a  thorough,  though  ineffectual 
search  of  London.  The  Chief  Constable  and  Walker, 
however,  had  returned  the  day  following  their  ill- 
fated  visit  to  the  Red  House. 

The  Chief  Constable  was  away  in  another  part  of 
the  county,  but  the  Superintendent  was  at  the  sta- 
tion. 

He  welcomed  Hunt  warmly,  and  when  they  were 
seated  he  began,  at  the  Inspector's  inviting,  to  tell 
of  the  little  they  had  discovered  at  the  Bournemouth 
end  of  the  trail. 

It  was  chiefly  of  the  Evanses;  of  the  many  in- 
quiries he  had  made  of  their  friends,  with  a  view  to 
throwing  more  light  on  the  motive  of  the  murder. 

But  nothing  fresh  had  come  to  light.  Sir  Charles 
and  Mrs.  Evans  were  looked  upon  as  the  best  of 
friends;  it  seemed  inconceivable  to  their  acquaint- 
ances that  she  should  have  helped  to  bring  about  his 
death. 

As  to  the  accomplice  who  had  taken  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton's car  to  Totland  Corner — of  him,  or  her,  there 
was  no  trace! 


228  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Neither  had  the  new  baronet  reappeared.  The 
motive  and  identity  of  the  accomplice,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  mysterious  movements  of  Sir  Henry,  were 
as  far  off  solution  as  ever. 

The  only  other  item  of  news  that  interested  Hunt 
to  any  degree  concerned  Jim  Hucklesby  and  Bailey. 

They  had,  Walker  said,  left  that  morning  for 
Liverpool,  en  route  to  catch  the  night  boat  to  the 
Isle  of  Man,  where  Jim  hoped  to  succeed  in  his  at- 
tempt to  win  the  race  for  the  Tourist  Trophy. 
Bailey  was  going  over  to  act  as  mechanic,  the  Chief 
Constable  offering  no  objection. 

Hunt  had  not  by  any  means  forgotten  the  ex- 
citing ride  he  had  had  on  the  Star  Special  that  Jim 
hoped  to  ride  to  victory.  "I  wish  him  luck,"  he  said. 
Then — "When  does  practising  start?" 

"To-morrow,"  the  Superintendent  replied.  "He 
left  his  departure  as  late  as  possible  in  case  we  needed 
his  help.  A  nice  lad,  Jim,"  he  added  reflectively. 
"He  ought  to  have  started  a  week  ago;  most  of  the 
riders  have  had  some  days  on  the  island ;  but  he  put 
what  he  considered  was  his  duty  first,  and  stayed, 
as  I  said,  to  see  if  he  could  help  me  in  any  way." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Hunt,  "a  really  nice  lad,  as  you 
say.  Now,  what  about  a  spot  of  lunch?" 

The  Superintendent  thought  this  a  good  idea, 
proposing  that  Hunt  should  accompany  him  to  his 
house,  where  he  felt  confident  his  wife  would  be  glad 
to  welcome  him. 

Just  as  they  were  preparing  to  leave,  the  'phone 
bell  rang. 

Walker  took  off  the  receiver.  "For  you,  Inspec- 
tor," he  said. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  229 

Hunt  took  the  instrument  from  him.  The  call  was 
from  the  Yard. 

Gascoigne  had,  he  learnt,  been  folowed  to  Euston 
Station,  where  lie  had  taken  a  ticket,  and  entrained, 
to  Liverpool. 

He  put  down  the  instrument,  feeling  considerably 
puzzled.  What  did  this  mean,  he  asked  himself? 
But  he  was  unable  to  supply  the  answer  to  his  own 
question.  Liverpool  suggested  ships,  and  ships  a 
means  of  fleeing  the  country.  The  Yard  had  "noth- 
ing on  him,"  though;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
under  an  obligation  to  him,  and  he  was  perfectly 
free  to  leave  the  country  if  he  chose  to  do  so.  Still, 
Hunt  had  the  feeling  that  there  was  something 
"fishy"  about  this  latest  move  of  his. 

Once  more  they  were  about  to  leave,  and  once 
more  they  were  delayed. 

This  time  a  constable  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
when  he  announced,  "Sir  Henry  Sandleson  to  see 
you,  sir,"  the  two  surprised  officials  almost  collapsed. 

"Now  for  the  denouement"  whispered  Walker, 
after  telling  the  man  to  show  him  in. 

A  moment  later  Sir  Henry  entered,  a  tall,  well- 
built  man,  his  rather  handsome  face  disfigured  some- 
what by  a  scar,  received  in  the  war. 

Walker  received  him  coldly.  "Take  a  chair,"  he 
ordered,  rather  than  asked. 

By  his  manner  Hunt  could  see  the  Superintendent 
intended  him  to  conduct  the  interview. 

Turning,  to  face  the  baronet  more  squarely,  he 
began,  "I  am  Detective-Inspector  Hunt  from  the 
Yard.  I  am  in  charge  of  the  investigations  into  the 


230  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

murder  of  Sir  Charles  Stafford  .  .  .  your  cousin, 
I  believe?" 

"Yes,"  the  visitor  assented.  "That's  right — he 
was  my  cousin.  It's  about  that  I've  called,  of 
course." 

"I  imagined  so,"  answered  Hunt  rather  sternly. 
He  was  no  respecter  of  the  aristocracy  when  they 
interfered  with  his  duties  to  the  extent  Sir  Henry 
had  done.  "I  suppose  you  realise,"  he  continued, 
"that  we  have  been  hunting  high  and  low  for  you 
since  the  night  you  vanished  so  completely  from 
Forest  Court?" 

Sir  Henry  looked  mystified.  "I  don't  quite  fol- 
low you,"  he  said. 

Hunt  began  to  get  a  trifle  annoyed.  "I  thought 
I  had  made  my  meaning  quite  clear.  I  said,  quite 
distinctly,  I  believe,  that  we  had  been  searching  high 
and  low  for  you  since  the  night  of  May  23rd,  when 
you  chose  to  vanish  so  mysteriously  from  the  house 
of  your  late  cousin,  Sir  Charles  Stafford!" 

Sir  Henry  smiled.  "I'm  sorry,  Inspector,"  he  ex- 
plained, "but  you're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree!  I 
haven't  been  near  Forest  Court  for  months !  Some- 
one has  been  pulling  your  leg  if  they  stuffed  you 
up  with  that  yarn." 

It  was  Hunt's  turn  to  look  mystified.  "I'm  sorry," 
he  said  simply ;  "there's  been  a  mistake  somewhere." 
Then — "Perhaps  you'll  be  good  enough  to  tell  us 
why  you  haven't  called  to  see  us  before?" 

His  answer  came  immediately.  "I  couldn't,  old 
man.  I've  been  out  of  the  country." 

"Out  of  the  country?"  echoed  Hunt.  "That  com- 
plicates matters  more  than  ever." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  231 

"Yes,  I've  been  out  to [He  mentioned  some 

out-of-the-way  European  State.]  There's  been  a 
Royal  christening  there,  as  you  probably  know." 

Hunt  did  know.  The  first  pictures  of  the  cere- 
mony had  arrived  in  England  only  a  day  or  two 
previously. 

Sir  Henry  continued.  "I  work  for  the Sound 

Film  Co.  We  went  out  to  film  the  show."  He  spoke 
expressive  slang,  Hunt  noticed. 

"I  heard  of  the  murder  whilst  we  were  out  there. 
Of  course,  I  knew  the  title  came  to  me;  that  didn't 
interest  me  a  lot.  What's  the  use  of  a  title  without 
money  to  go  with  it?  American  heiresses  are  scarce 
now!" 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Hunt.  "But  doesn't  the 
estate  come  to  you?" 

"Oh,  no !"  corrected  the  baronet.  "It  was  bought 
by  Sir  Charles  with  his  own  money.  Not  a  penny 
comes  to  me.  He  was  free  to  will  it  where  he  wished." 

Hunt  had  not  considered  the  money  question  be- 
fore. He  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Sir  Henry 
succeeded  to  the  estate  as  well  as  the  title.  But,  so 
far  as  he  could  see,  this  new  development  made  little 
difference  to  the  case. 

"When  did  you  leave  England?"  he  asked. 

"Let's  see  ...  May  the  .  .  ." — he  thought  hard 
—"the  23rd,  I  believe.  Yes.  That's  right  .  .  . 
May  the  23rd." 

"The  day  of  the  murder,"  Hunt  observed.  "From 
Dover,  I  suppose?" 

"No.  Southampton — on  the  Regal.  It  was  so 
much  easier  to  carry  our  traps  that  way.  No  chang- 
ing from  train  to  train.  Once  on  board  the  boat 


232  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

and  everything  left  undisturbed  until  we  docked 
at—" 

Hunt  considered.  "What  time  did  the  boat  sail?" 
he  asked. 

"Twelve  midday,"  was  the  answer. 

Hunt  thought  for  a  moment.  There  was  ample 
time  for  anyone  to  participate  in  the  murder  and 
still  have  any  amount  of  time  in  which  to  catch  the 
boat.  He  did  not  feel  disposed  to  dismiss  Sir  Henry 
so  easily  from  the  case.  Evans  must  have  had  an 
accomplice  other  than  his  wife;  the  police  had  no 
idea  who  that  accomplice  was.  Therefore,  anyone 
who  had  any  connection  with  any  of  the  parties  con- 
cerned must  be  regarded  with  the  gravest  suspicion. 

"Did  you  know  Evans?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes!  Quite  well,"  Sir  Henry  replied.  "A 
very  nice  fellow  too,  I  always  thought." 

"Yes — that  seems  the  general  opinion.  But  I 
usually  find  the  murderer  is  given  a  better  name  than 
the  victim.  Now,  one  more  question.  A  very  per- 
sonal one,  I'm  afraid — but  it  can't  be  helped. 

"What  sort  of  terms  were  you  on  with  Sir 
Charles?" 

The  baronet  considered  for  a  moment.  "Why  do 
you  ask  me  that,  I  wonder?"  he  said  aloud.  Then — 

"You  surely  don't  think  I'm  mixed  up  in  the 
affair,  do  you?"  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"Hardly  that,"  answered  Hunt,  "but,  as  you 
know,  the  Evanses  had  an  accomplice.  We  haven't 
traced  him  yet,  and  until  we  do  we've  got  to  ask  un- 
pleasant questions." 

"Well,  as  I've  a  perfectly  clear  conscience,  I'll 
answer  your  question,"  said  the  baronet  graciously, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  233 

"although  I'm  not  at  all  sure  you're  not  exceeding 
your  powers  in  asking  it.  Sir  Charles  hated  the 
sight  of  me,  and  the  feeling  was  reciprocated." 

"So  I  understand,"  Hunt  replied.  "Now  your 
answer  leads  to  another  question.  When  did  you 
last  see  Sir  Charles?" 

"In  London,  two  months  ago — in  the  lounge  of  the 
Savoy,  to  be  exact !" 

"Did  you  speak?" 

"No.    We  merely  nodded  to  one  another." 

A  further  quarter  of  an  hour's  chat  failed  to  help 
the  police  in  their  inquiries.  Seeing  that  he  could 
not  enlighten  the  officials,  Sir  Henry  rose  to  go. 

"Let's  have  your  address,  Sir  Henry,  in  case  we 
want  to  look  you  up  at  any  time,"  asked  Hunt. 

The  baronet  acquiesced,  handing  over  a  card. 
"You  won't  find  me  at  home  for  a  week  or  two,"  he 
remarked.  "We're  going  over  to  the  island  to  take 
some  shots  of  the  T.T.  races." 

Hunt  mentioned  that  Jim  was  riding. 

"Oh,  yes.  So  I've  been  told.  Is  he  any  good?" 
the  baronet  inquired. 

"Quite  good,"  replied  Hunt  enthusiastically, 
"and,  if  the  will  to  win  counts  for  anything,  he'll  be 
well  placed  at  the  finish." 

"Sir  Charles  paid  his  entry  fee,  I  believe,"  Sir 
Henry  remarked.  "A  great  sport,  Charles ;  I  grant 
him  that.  He  was  always  fond  of  risky  pastimes. 
He  rode  himself,  you  know,  a  couple  of  times  just 
after  the  war.  Didn't  do  any  good,  though — the 
machine  let  him  down  on  both  occasions." 


234  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Walker  was  quite  correct.  His  good  lady  was 
glad  to  see  the  Inspector,  and  served  up  a  delightful 
lunch. 

Over  the  meal  the  two  discussed  the  next  step  to 
be  taken.  Hunt  explained  that  he  had  interviewed 
Day,  but  the  man  had  stuck  to  his  original  story, 
not  deviating  from  it  in  the  slightest. 

Neither  of  them  knew  quite  what  to  make  of  Sir 
Henry's  denial  of  a  visit  to  Forest  Court,  nor,  in 
fact,  could  they  quite  fathom  Sir  Henry  himself. 

The  obvious  thing  to  do,  they  eventually  agreed, 
was  to  make  another  journey  out  to  Lymington,  and 
try  to  make  Sturman  change  his  story. 

They  started  the  short  walk  to  the  police  station. 
Walker  had  one  or  two  small  matters  to  attend  to 
before  they  could  depart. 

Not  far  from  the  house  he  discovered  that  he  had 
nearly  run  out  of  tobacco. 

"Shan't  be  a  moment,"  he  said,  entering  a  near-by 
shop. 

Hunt  stood  on  the  pavement,  gazing  across  the 
road  towards  the  window  of  a  ladies'  hairdressing 
establishment. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  started — startled  at  what  he 
saw  there.  It  was  a  perfectly  normal  hairdresser's 
window  so  far  as  one  could  see — the  same  kind  of 
wares  displayed  there  as  in  practically  every  hair- 
dresser's in  the  country — and  displayed  in  just  the 
same  attractive  manner. 

And  in  that  moment  he  solved  "THE  'MOTH' 
MURDER  MYSTERY" —  the  most  baffling  crime  of  the 
century.  Solved  it  in  its  entirety — saw  how  he  had 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  235 

been  blinded  and  led  "right  up  the  garden"  to  the 
last. 

Walker  came  out  of  the  tobacconist's  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

Hunt  stood  on  the  pavement,  oblivious  to  the 
passing  traffic,  not  noticing  the  waiting  Superin- 
tendent— a  man  lost  to  the  world. 

"You  look  as  though  you've  seen  a  ghost,  In- 
spector," Walker  began. 

Hunt  came  back  to  earth  with  a  start.  "I  have," 
he  said,  "or,  perhaps  I  should  say,  something  mighty 
like  one." 

The  Superintendent  was  gazing  in  the  same  direc- 
tion as  Hunt.  "I  don't  see  anything  to  stare  at," 
he  confessed,  although  he  too,  at  that  moment,  was 
studying  the  shop  window. 

"If  you're  ready,"  he  suggested,  seeing  Hunt  still 
wore  a  dazed  expression. 

"Yes,  I'm  ready,"  replied  Hunt,  "but  I'm  afraid 
Lymington's  off — for  me,  at  any  rate."  He  was 
thinking  rapidly;  a  staggering  possibility  had  just 
flashed  through  his  mind — a  million  to  one  chance 
that  he  decided  to  gamble  on. 

Just  as  the  huntsman  knows  instinctively  the  best 
covert  to  draw  for  a  fox ;  the  keeper  the  best  stands 
at  which  to  place  his  wealthiest  guns;  so  Hunt,  the 
avenger  of  a  terrible  double  crime,  in  a  moment  of 
inspiration,  guessed  where  he  would  be  the  most 
likely  to  find  his  man. 

"Lymington  off?"  repeated  the  Superintendent. 

"Then  where  are  you  going,  Inspector  ?"  he  asked. 

Hunt  did  not  answer  immediately;  he  was  hur- 
riedly turning  times  and  distances  over  in  his  mind. 


236  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"I  think  I  can  just  about  make  it,"  he  murmured 
half  aloud.  Then,  in  reply  to  the  Superintendent's 
query,  "I'm  going  to  the  Isle  of  Man.  If  I  hurry  to 
Croydon  and  charter  a  'plane,  I  think  I  shall  just 
manage  to  catch  the  night  boat." 

"Croydon — the  Isle  of  Man,"  echoed  the  Superin- 
tendent stupidly.  Then — "What  the  devil  is  he  up 
to?"  as  he  saw  the  excited  Inspector  hurry  off  down 
the  road  as  though  he  had  but  a  moment  to  live. 

Before  following  him,  however,  Walker  crossed  the 
road  and  spent  several  minutes  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
window  of  "Farmer  &  Gainsborough,  Ladies'  Hair- 
dressers" ;  then,  still  as  puzzled,  he  followed  slowly  in 
Hunt's  wake. 


XXIII 
IN  THE  ISLAND 

So  certain  was  Hunt  that  his  deductions  were  correct 
that  before  leaving  the  town  he  paid  a  hurried  visit 
to  Dr.  Burroughs  to  obtain  the  latter's  signature  to 
yet  another  warrant. 

The  doctor  seemed  surprised  to  see  him,  but  in- 
vited him  into  his  study,  where  he  poured  him  out  a 
stiff  drink. 

The  Yard  man  began  by  binding  his  host  to  se- 
crecy, after  which  he  expounded  his  newest  theory. 

At  first  the  doctor  was  openly  sceptical.  Hunt 
suspected  that  he  was  wondering  whether  the  acci- 
dent at  the  crossing  had  left  his  brain  a  trifle  dis- 
torted. 

But  as  the  Inspector  continued,  fitting  each  fact 
neatly  and  quickly  into  its  appointed  place,  the 
worthy  J.  P.  became  more  and  more  impressed. 

"By  Jove,  Inspector,  I  believe  you're  right,"  he 
said  with  unconcealed  admiration  as  Hunt  concluded. 
"I'll  sign  the  warrant  immediately — I  can  see  you're 
itching  to  be  gone." 

"Thanks,"  replied  the  Yard  man,  "I  guessed  you 
would.  When  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  it's  the  only 
theory  that  can  possibly  be  made  to  fit  the  facts.  In 
all  our  others  we  left  various  features  of  the  case 
unexplained." 

On  his  return  he  looked  in  on  Walker  at  the  sta- 
tion. 

237 


238  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Are  you  going  to  keep  your  discovery  all  to  your- 
self?" the  Superintendent  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Hunt,  "I'm  afraid  I  must.  If  I 
were  to  tell  you  just  what  I  thought,  I  know  you'd 
laugh  at  me.  .  .  .  However,  to  be  as  fair  as  possi- 
ble, I  shall  write  to  you  to-night,  enclosing  in  the 
envelope  a  sealed  letter. 

"If  I  die,  or  disappear  suddenly,  you'll  learn  who 
my  murderer  was  by  reading  it.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  live,  and  everything  goes  according  to  plan, 
I'll  telegraph  you  permission  to  open  it. 

"As  I  say,  the  chances  are  heavily  against  me  be- 
ing correct  in  all  my  reasoning — and  if  I'm  proved 
wrong,  after  dragging  you  all  over  to  the  island, 
what  an  idiot  I  shall  appear. 

"Besides  that,  there's  still  a  lot  of  work  to  be  done 
here.  You  must  see  Sturman  again,  and  endeavour 
to  shake  his  evidence.  Also,  according  to  our  origi- 
nal theory,  there  is  the  accomplice  to  be  tracked 
down  yet. 

"I  promise  you  this,"  he  added.  "By  continuing 
your  present  search  you  are  doing  everything  possi- 
ble to  clear  up  the  case.  You're  not  so  much  on  the 
wrong  track  as  my  actions  may  suggest." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Superintendent  with  a  smile. 
"I'll  do  as  you  say.  I  don't  really  relish  the  idea  of 
going  over  to  the  island — I'm  a  rotten  sailor.  Inci- 
dentally, I'm  getting  all  behind  with  my  other  work. 
Now  as  regards  your  letter — I'll  promise  not  to  open 
that  until  I  get  your  wire." 

"Or  hear  I  have  departed  this  world,"  reminded 
Hunt.  "Though  I  hardly  think  I  shall  allow  that 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  239 

to  happen.  One  near  go  in  a  case  is  more  than 
enough  for  me." 

He  walked  out  to  his  car,  the  Superintendent  fol- 
lowing. "You'll  be  sure  and  book  me  that  'plane, 
won't  you?"  he  said.  "If  I  don't  get  it  I  shall  miss 
the  boat — and  I  have  special  reasons  for  wanting  to 
catch  it." 

A  moment  later  he  had  started  the  engine  and 
slipped  the  gears  into  mesh.  He  drove  recklessly  all 
the  way  to  London,  and,  to  his  knowledge,  had  his 
number  taken  by  country  policemen  on  no  less  than 
three  occasions.  But  he  had  no  time  to  stop  and  ex- 
plain ;  explanation  could  come  later  if  necessary. 

Once  in  Town,  he  drove  straight  to  Scotland  Yard. 
He  was  granted  an  immediate  audience  by  the  Chief 
Commissioner. 

When  he  had  explained  his  theory,  the  Chief  sat 
back  thoughtfully  in  his  chair. 

"It's  possible,  Inspector,"  he  admitted.  "Possible, 
but  hardly  probable.  Anyhow,  you  have  my  permis- 
sion to  go  over — but  if  anything  does  come  of  your 
trip,  for  goodness'  sake  be  careful.  You're  too  valu- 
able a  man  to  take  unnecessary  risks." 

Hunt  lived  in  a  suburb  through  which  he  had  to 
drive  on  his  way  out  to  Croydon.  He  stopped  at  his 
lodgings  for  a  few  minutes  to  pack  his  bags. 

The  contents  of  one  in  particular  might  have  ex- 
cited comment  among  the  habitues  of  the  island  had 
they  been  able  to  glance  inside  it.  For  it  contained, 
among  other  things,  a  dictaphone  of  new  and  pe- 
culiar pattern,  a  pair  of  headphones  of  the  type  tele- 
phone operators  use,  a  strong  hack  saw,  a  bunch  of 
skeleton  keys,  and  a  well-oiled  automatic.  He 


240  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

climbed  into  his  'plane  just  after  six  o'clock.  The 
mechanic  swung  the  propeller,  and  the  engine  re- 
sponded straight  away.  A  few  moments  later  they 
started  their  short  somewhat  bumpy  run  over  the 
drome,  then  the  pilot  pulled  back  his  stick,  and  the 
machine,  in  answer  to  his  movements,  rose  steadily 
into  the  air. 

As  they  passed  rapidly  over  London  and  the  home 
counties,  Hunt  busied  himself  in  writing  his  prom- 
ised letter  to  the  Superintendent. 

He  began  at  the  very  beginning,  giving  his  views 
on  the  case  in  full.  As  Walker  discovered,  when 
later  he  opened  the  missive,  these  views  were  correct 
down  to  the  smallest  detail. 

Just  after  eight  they  landed  in  Liverpool,  where 
Hunt  found  he  had  still  plenty  of  time  in  which  to 
catch  the  boat. 

Instead  of  proceeding  leisurely  to  the  dock, 
though,  he  tipped  his  taxi-driver  ten  shillings  to 
make  the  journey  at  his  best  speed. 

This  the  man  did,  and  by  8.30  Hunt  found  himself 
on  board  the  Mona,  where  he  immediately  took  up  a 
position  from  which  he  was  able  to  scrutinise  every 
oncoming  passenger. 

But  his  man  did  not  put  in  an  appearance.  He 
was  fated  to  take  the  trip  to  the  island  that  he  had 
thought  up  till  now  might  easily  prove  to  be  un- 
necessary. 

Once  at  Douglas,  he  decided  that  he  had  done 
enough  for  one  day,  so,  after  alighting  from  a  taxi 
outside  his  hotel,  he  passed  straight  up  to  bed. 

Early  the  next  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was  light, 
he  was  awakened  by  the  staccato  roar  of  a  racing 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  241 

motor-cycle.  He  jumped  out  of  bed  and  dressed 
hurriedly.  This  was,  of  course,  the  first  morning  of 
practising.  He  might  as  well  see  the  fun. 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  in  the  roadway,  walking 
towards  the  start.  It  was  a  trifle  misty  here;  con- 
ditions were  terrible  on  the  mountain,  they  said,  and 
it  did  not  appear  likely  that  any  fast  times  would  be 
returned. 

He  watched  Jim  start;  saw  him  disappear  into 
the  mist  with  the  speed  of  a  veteran.  Then  after 
watching  a  few  more  men  off,  he  decided  to  walk  to 
Governor's  Bridge  to  see  Jim  come  round  on  the 
completion  of  his  first  lap. 

Passing  along  the  road  behind  the  grand  stand, 
he  came  to  the  famous  bridge  in  under  ten  minutes. 

Soon  after  he  arrived  the  early  starters  began  to 
appear.  To  his  surprise,  Jim  arrived  surprisingly 
early.  With  a  squeal  of  brakes  he  half  skidded  the 
corner,  accelerating  violently  immediately,  in  an 
endeavour  to  catch  the  man  ahead. 

Retracing  his  steps  to  the  grand  stand,  he  found 
Jim's  lap  speed  chalked  up — 35  minutes  45  seconds. 
He  ran  his  finger  up  his  lap  table  35  m.  45s.  =  63.3 
m.p.h. 

"A  wonderful  speed,"  he  said  aloud.  "If  he  can 
do  this  on  his  first  morning — and  in  dreadful  cli- 
matic conditions — what  will  be  be  doing  by  race 
day?" 

Not  waiting  to  see  the  finish  of  the  practising,  he 
returned  to  his  hotel,  shaved,  and  otherwise  tidied 
himself  for  breakfast. 

There  was  a  boat  due  in  at  nine  o'clock.  He  was 
waiting  on  the  quay  to  meet  it.  Again  he  scrutinised 


242  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

every  passenger,  and  again  he  was  disappointed— 
an  occurrence  that  was  to  be  repeated  many  times  in 
the  next  fortnight. 

Once  sure  that  his  man  had  not  arrived  on  the 
early  boat,  he  began  a  tour  of  the  hotels — and,  at 
each  hotel  he  visited,  he  endeavoured  to  come  into 
contact  with  all  the  male  guests;  a  difficult  under- 
taking, as  Douglas  was  filling  rapidly.  And  in  every 
case,  before  leaving,  he  carefully  inspected  the  re- 
gister ;  but  in  no  case  did  he  find  the  desired  entry. 

This  was  his  programme  daily  now ;  first  to  watch 
the  practising,  then  to  see  the  boats  in,  and  finally 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  a  tour  of  the 
hotels  and  various  racing  camps,  keeping  his  eyes 
and  ears  well  open — but  his  tongue  he  kept  well 
guarded. 

He  found  time  too,  each  morning,  to  visit  the 
headquarters  of  the  Sound  Film  Co.  and  in- 
quire of  their  manager  if  Sir  Henry  Sandleson  had 
yet  put  in  an  appearance. 

The  answer  was  always  the  same — No — it  was 
doubtful  whether  he  would  be  over ;  he  was  detained 
in  London  on  private  business,  they  believed. 

But  it  was  significant  that  there  was  one  person 
already  on  the  island  whom  he  seldom  let  out  of  sight 
for  any  length  of  time,  in  spite  of  his  other  activi- 
ties,— and  that  person  was  Jim  Hucklesby. 

Jim  was  staying  at  the  Ceramo,  the  same  hotel  as 
himself.  He  met  him  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  con- 
gratulating him  regularly  on  his  fast  improving 
speeds. 

By  the  end  of  the  first  week's  practising  the  lad 
had  clocked  a  lap  at  over  seventy,  although  on  no 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  243 

occasion  had  the  conditions  been  realy  favourable 
for  high  speeds. 

Another  of  Hunt's  peculiarities  that  the  "lads" 
would  have  commented  on  had  they  known  of  it  was 
his  extravagance  in  rooms. 

Instead  of  being  content  to  share  one  with  an- 
other holiday-maker — for  prices  were  high — he  had 
actually  gone  so  far  as  to  take  two  rooms,  one  on 
each  floor,  and,  as  it  happened,  one  over  the  other. 

A  question  of  wishing  to  be  free  from  noise,  they 
would  have  said,  but  they  would  have  been  wrong, 
for  the  Inspector  could  sleep  like  a  log  through  the 
severest  thunderstorm,  and  also,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
was  occupying  the  one  upstairs. 

But  the  reason  could  have  been  partly  supplied 
by  Mr.  Casson,  the  jovial  manager,  had  he  the  per- 
mission and  inclination  to  give  it. 


XXIV 

THE  RACE  FOR  THE  SENIOR  TOURIST 
TROPHY 

BY  the  last  morning  of  practising  Jim  was  the  talk 
of  the  island.  His  fastest  lap  was  only  fractionally 
slower  than  that  of  Brown,  an  old  hand  with  a  life 
knowledge  of  the  tricky  Manxland  course,  whose 
engine  had  been  tuned  by  Hocking,  the  works  expert, 
acknowledged  by  most  people  to  be  finest  tuner 
extant. 

As  a  result,  Jim  found  himself  besieged  with  offers 
of  employment  at  salaries  the  mention  of  which 
caused  his  head  to  swim.  However,  being  of  a  stable 
disposition,  he  refused  them  one  and  all,  deciding 
to  wait  until  after  the  race  before  making  his  final 
choice. 

But  whilst  Jim  moved  in  an  ecstasy  of  seventh 
heaven,  Hunt  daily  became  more  despondent,  till, 
on  the  day  of  the  race  for  the  Junior  Trophy,  it  was 
hardly  safe  to  approach  him  for  fear  of  having  one's 
head  snapped  off. 

Jim  saw  the  race  from  the  stands,  realising  for 
the  first  time  at  what  a  terrific  speed  the  faster  men 
were  travelling.  But  Hunt,  who  sat  near  at  hand, 
seemed  to  take  but  little  interest  in  the  proceedings. 

On  the  Wednesday  came  the  light-weight  race. 
This  time,  though,  Jim  was  not  in  his  place,  having 
ridden  out  to  Craig-ny-Baa  on  a  friend's  machine 

244 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  245 

to  watch  the  riders'  spectacular  leaps  down  the 
mountain. 

Hunt,  however,  did  not  move  from  the  stands, 
though  his  eye  seemed  more  on  the  crowds  of  specta- 
tors than  the  competitors. 

In  this  race  Brown  had  the  misfortune  to  crash 
badly  when  leading,  leaving  Jim  the  hope  of  the 
Star  camp  for  the  big  race  on  the  Friday. 

The  Thursday  found  Hunt  up  unusually  early. 
Any  chance  passer-by  in  the  corridor  outside  would 
have  been  more  than  surprised  to  have  found  that 
he  was  spending  the  time  he  had  gained  by  his  early 
rising  in  an  examination  of  the  lock  of  his  spare 
room — No.  44. 

The  remainder  of  that  day  he  spent  in  keeping 
the  closest  possible  watch  upon  Jim's  movements;  a 
watch  he  only  relaxed  when  he  had  to  visit  the  quay 
to  see  a  boat  in. 

But  when  the  last  of  Thursday's  trippers  to  the 
Senior  had  been  landed  he  began  to  feel  again  that 
his  hopes  had  proved  false,  and  that  his  early  rising 
had  been  but  so  much  wasted  effort. 

•  •••••• 

Not  a  hundred  miles  from  Liverpool  is  situated 
the  club-house  of  the Light  Aeroplane  Club. 

On  the  night  in  question  it  was  unusually  crowded 
— the  Round  Scotland  Air  Race  had  concluded  there 
a  few  hours  previously,  and  the  weary  competitors 
were  loath  to  leave  the  comfort  of  the  lounge.  In- 
deed, many  of  them,  including  the  winner,  Pat  Lloyd, 
intended  staying  there  the  night. 

Two  men  were  seated  at  a  table  in  the  far  corner 


246  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

of  the  room.  The  elder  was  a  millowner,  Jeff  Gor- 
don by  name,  and  a  prominent  aeroplane  enthusiast. 
A  clever  pilot,  he  had  taken  third  place  in  the  afore- 
mentioned race. 

The  younger  man,  Dickenson,  was  speaking. 
"Here  comes  Lloyd,"  he  said,  "looking  as  fresh  as  a 
daisy.  His  vitality  seems  amazing;  no  matter  how 
gruelling  the  race,  he  always  comes  up  smiling." 

"Yes,"  Gordon  replied.  "He's  got  the  stamina 
of  a  racehorse.  I  know  I  feel  dead  beat,  and  I  don't 
mind  admitting  it.  But  Lloyd — no,  nothing  could 
tire  the  man." 

The  winner,  a  tall,  bespectacled,  rather  fat-faced 
man,  went  up  to  the  bar  and  ordered  a  drink. 

"Hasn't  raced  for  ages,  has  he?"  asked  Dicken- 
son. 

"No — quite  three  years,"  replied  Gordon.  "A 
funny  thing — do  you  know  I  was  third  to  him  in  this 
race  last  time  he  competed?" 

"Remarkable.  The  old  order  changeth  not," 
laughingly  quoth  Dickenson.  "He  used  to  race  a 
lot  in  those  days,  I  understand." 

"Yes,  he  flew  at  every  big  meeting — it  would  be  a 
little  before  you  were  old  enough  to  take  an  active 
interest  in  the  sport." 

**Yes,  I  was  hardly  able  to  take  an  active  interest, 
as  you  say,  but  I  did  take  an  interest  all  the  same. 
He  was  one  of  my  idols  in  those  days — a  sort  of  ideal 
I  hoped  some  day  to  grow  up  and  emulate." 

"Well,  you're  well  on  the  road  to  your  goal.  In 
another  year  or  two  you'll  be  a  force  to  be  reckoned 
with,  at  the  rate  you're  coming  along." 

"Flatterer,"  replied  Dickenson.    "You  know  I'm 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  247 

only  mediocre — and  that's  what  I  always  shall  be. 
Just  a  plodder — a  man  who  might  win  if  all  the  good 
men  dropped  out." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Gordon.  "You'll  come  on  a  lot 
when  you've  had  a  little  more  experience.  Won't 
he,  Mr.  Lloyd?" 

Lloyd,  who  was  passing,  stopped.  "Yes,  he's 
going  to  be  'hot  stuff'  some  day — and  that  day  isn't 
so  far  off  either." 

"Tired?"  asked  Gordon. 

"Tired?  No.  I  never  allow  myself  to  feel  tired. 
But  I'm  off  to  bed  soon,  all  the  same — I'm  getting 
off  early.  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  the  T.  T.  over 
in  the  island." 

"Yes,  it'll  be  a  good  race  this  year,  I'm  told.  I'm 
only  too  sorry  I  can't  spare  the  time  to  pop  over 
myself." 

Dickenson  sat  deep  in  a  brown  study.  "Penny 
for  your  thoughts,"  said  Gordon,  when  Lloyd  had 
departed. 

The  younger  man  smiled.  "They're  not  worth 
even  that — I  was  merely  wondering  where  I  had  seen 
a  photo  of  Lloyd  recently,"  he  said. 

Dawn,  dry  roads,  a  warm  June  morning,  and  no 
mist. 

These  were  the  conditions  Hunt  found  when  he 
looked  out  of  his  bedroom  window  at  about  4.30  the 
following  morning.  Everything  pointed  to  the  race 
being  easily  the  fastest  of  the  series. 

He  dressed  leisurely  and  strolled  down  to  the  har- 
bour. Two  boats  were  due  in  early,  and  he  hoped 


248  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

that  this  time  he  would  find  his  man  among  the 
passengers. 

But  when  both  loads  of  unshaven,  laughing  men 
and  dishevelled,  excited  girls  were  ashore  he  found 
his  optimism  had  been  premature. 

Unless  his  man  had  used  the  most  effectual  dis- 
guise, he  was  not  on  the  island. 

For  a  moment  Hunt  thought  of  returning  to  the 
mainland  on  the  first  departing  boat;  but,  on  re- 
considering the  question,  he  decided  he  might  as  well 
see  the  day's  sport. 

Half  an  hour  later  found  him  seated  in  the  stands, 
bent  on  enjoying  the  race  in  spite  of  his  disappoint- 
ment. 

The  riders  were  lined  up  on  one  side  of  the  road- 
way, their  machines  on  the  other  (it  was  one  of  the 
early  races  after  the  massed  start  had  been  intro- 
duced), and  the  starter  was  shouting  final  instruc- 
tions through  his  megaphone. 

The  hand  of  his  watch  crept  slowly  but  surely 
towards  the  magic  hour  of  ten. 

Then  suddenly  the  maroon  boomed,  and  forty  odd 
leather-clad  figures  sprinted  across  the  broad  sec- 
tion of  road  to  their  machines.  A  brief  push  before 
the  engines  started,  then  they  were  off. 

As  a  spectacle  it  was  magnificent;  men  and  ma- 
chines seemed  as  one  being. 

A  minute  later,  and  the  ear-splitting  noise  they 
made,  had  faded,  leaving  the  spectators  approxi- 
mately half  an  hour  in  which  to  decide  among  them- 
selves who  would  be  first  man  round. 

Twenty-five  minutes  later  the  staccato  roar  of  an 
open  exhaust  could  be  heard  approaching. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  249 

But  it  was  not  a  motor-cycle.  Such  a  speed  for 
the  thirty-seven  and  a  half  mile  lap  was,  of  course, 
impossible.  It  was  a  little  red  monoplane,  screech- 
ing its  way  just  over  the  tree-tops. 

It  circled  the  grand  stand  twice  before  descending 
in  a  near-by  field. 

At  that  moment  the  faster  of  the  riders  could  be 
heard  approaching,  and  of  all  that  vast  crowd  in  the 
vicinity  only  one  man  appeared  to  take  any  further 
interest  in  the  aeroplane — and  that  man  was  In- 
spector Hunt. 

Pushing  his  way  through  the  knots  of  people,  he 
gained  a  piece  of  high  ground,  from  which  he  was 
able  to  focus  his  glasses  on  the  field  in  which  the 
'plane  had  landed. 

The  machine,  he  saw,  had  come  down  safely,  and 
was  taxi-ing  back  towards  the  road. 

A  minute  later  the  pilot  had  climbed  out  of  the 
cockpit  and,  after  a  look  at  some  part  of  the  engine, 
started  to  walk  towards  the  road. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  he  passed  close  by  Hunt 
(who  kept  well  out  of  sight)  on  his  way  to  the  pits. 

The  Yard  man  followed  him  at  a  discreet  dis- 
tance, studying  his  every  action. 

Once  at  the  pits,  he  stopped,  and  wrote  a  note, 
which  he  handed  to  a  Boy  Scout  who  was  standing 
near  by.  After  a  little  monetary  persuasion,  the  boy 
departed  with  it,  heading  for  the  direction  in  which 
Hunt  was  standing. 

What  ought  he  to  do?  the  latter  wondered.  Fol- 
low the  Scout  or  keep  to  his  man? 

He  decided  to  compromise  by  attempting  to  stop 
the  boy  and  persuade  him  to  hand  over  the  message. 


250  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

This  proved  easier  than  he  expected  it  would,  as  the 
boy  did  not  even  doubt  his  word  that  he  was  a  police 
officer. 

A  glance  at  the  note  sufficed.  It  was  to  the  man- 
ager of  the  Ceramo,  booking  a  room  for  the  night. 

Producing  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  Hunt 
scrawled  "Room  44,"  and,  underneath,  his  signature. 
Then,  together  with  a  tip,  he  handed  the  paper  back 
to  the  boy. 

He  felt  considerably  relieved  now.  The  hand- 
writing, he  felt  sure,  was  that  of  the  man  for  whose 
arrest  he  held  a  warrant.  His  choice  of  the  Ceramo 
as  his  headquarters  had  been  a  lucky  one. 

The  intercepting  of  the  Scout  had  taken  very 
little  time,  and  he  had  not  lost  sight  of  his  man  the 
while.  The  man  was  walking  on,  passing  slowly 
down  the  pits,  his  eye  taking  in  all  that  was  going 
on  around. 

Opposite  the  Star  camp  he  halted.  After  watch- 
ing the  mechanics,  particularly  Bailey,  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  spoke  to  the  pit  manager,  who  nodded,  evi- 
dently replying  in  the  affirmative. 

Then,  turning,  he  retraced  his  steps  back  to  the 
grand  stand. 

Hunt  waited  until  he  had  seated  himself  before 
taking  up  a  position  immediately  behind  him,  from 
which  he  could  keep  him  in  view,  and  at  the  same  time 
be  as  well  out  of  sight  himself  as  possible. 

Indeed,  to  be  on  the  safe  side  he  bought  a  news- 
paper, behind  which  he  would  be  able,  should  the 
necessity  arise,  to  hide  his  features. 

After  a  time  his  glance  happened  to  fall  idly  on 
the  picture  page. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  251 

Almost  the  first  thing  that  caught  his  eye  was  a 
photograph — the  photograph  of  Pat  Lloyd,  the 
Round  Scotland  Air  Race  winner. 

At  first  he  could  hardly  believe  his  senses,  so 
startling  was  his  discovery.  For  the  man  seated  so 
calmly  only  a  few  feet  in  front  of  him  was  the  origi- 
nal of  the  photograph  beyond  doubt. 

•  •••••• 

Hardly  had  the  last  echoes  of  the  maroon  died 
away  before  Jim  had  started  his  heavy  machine. 
He  realised  that  with  a  massed  start  of  nearly  fifty 
riders  a  good  get-away  was  essential  if  he  was  to 
have  clear  roads  ahead  of  him. 

Although  he  had  drawn  No.  35,  and  was  placed  a 
good  sixty  yards  behind  the  first  man,  he  managed, 
by  superb  riding,  to  force  his  way  up  to  seventh 
place  by  the  time  he  reached  Quarter  Bridge  (1 
mile) . 

Then  he  slowed  somewhat,  taking  things  com- 
paratively easy  for  the  rest  of  the  thirty-seven  and  a 
half  mile  lap,  knowing  that  the  surest  way  to  "nurse" 
a  "hot-stuff"  engine  for  its  heart-breaking  task  is 
not  to  rev.  it  too  unmercifully  until  it  gets  thor- 
oughly warmed  up. 

Nevertheless,  he  picked  up  two  more  places  before 
the  grand  stand  came  in  view  again,  clocking  a  lap 
time  of  29.45  s.,  which  is  a  lap  speed  of  76.1  m.p.h. 

Then  on  his  second  lap  he  began  really  to  open 
out.  Riding  like  a  man  possessed,  he  had  crept  up 
to  fourth  place  by  the  end  of  it,  this  time  clocking 
29  minutes  exactly,  which  equals  a  speed  of  78.1 
m.p.h. 


252  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

The  next  lap  he  covered  at  precisely  the  same 
speed,  and  was  rewarded  by  capturing  third  place. 

But  the  men  in  front  of  him  were  veterans; 
mounted  on  two  of  the  fastest  machines  in  the  island, 
mounts  which  give  every  promise  of  standing  their 
riders'  drastic  handling.  And  the  lead  they  held 
was  one  of  over  a  minute. 

On  the  completion  of  his  fourth  lap  he  stopped 
to  refuel.  The  leaders,  he  learned,  had  done  like- 
wise. In  thirty-five  seconds  he  was  away  again. 

Three  laps  to  go;  and  nearly  eighty  seconds  to 
make  up.  Could  he  do  it?  That  was  the  question 
he  asked  himself  a  hundred  times  in  the  next  few 
miles — and  the  answer  every  time  was  "Yes." 

Another  fast  lap — 29  minutes  exactly.  Consist- 
ency seemed  to  be  his  keynote.  But  the  signal  held 
out  to  him  from  his  pit,  a  white  F  on  a  blackboard, 
meant  faster  still. 

He  was  beginning  to  tire  slightly.  Surely  he 
could  stick  it?  Only  two  more  laps. 

His  cornering  was  automatic  now;  he  had  sub- 
consciously become  part  and  parcel  of  his  machine. 

Once  more  the  stands — once  more  he  saw  the  little 
white  F  held  out  to  him  from  his  pit. 

How  could  they  expect  any  more?  Surely  his 
last  lap  was  fast  enough?  He  must  be  catching  the 
leaders.  Even  in  his  tired  state  he  knew  it  had  been 
his  fastest. 

Still,  he  had  to  obey  orders.  Riding  like  an  auto- 
maton, he  unleashed  a  tigerish  lap. 

Those  who  saw  it  will  carry  the  memory  to  their 
graves.  His  leap  at  Ballig  Bridge  was  reported  the 
most  daring  ever  seen  there;  his  fiendish  bounds 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  253 

down  the  mountain  to  Craig-ny-Baa  were  awe-in- 
spiring ;  and  according  to  the  experts  he  must  count 
himself  extremely  lucky  in  safely  rounding  Brandish 
Corner  at  the  speed  he  took  it. 

But  it  was  left  to  the  finish  to  provide  the  biggest 
thrill  of  all. 

He  passed  Cook,  the  second  man,  at  Rectory  Cor- 
ner. Only  a  mile  to  go — and  the  leader,  Robertson, 
in  sight.. 

Victory  was  within  his  grasp.  Tired,  aching 
joints  and  blistered  hands  were  temporarily  forgot- 
ten. All  that  mattered  now  was  the  will  to  make  a 
final  effort. 

At  the  Nook  he  left  his  braking  for  the  approach 
to  Governor's  Bridge  so  late  that  all  who  saw  him 
could  but  think  disaster  imminent.  But,  no — he  had 
the  machine  well  under  control,  and  had  judged  his 
speed  to  the  nih  degree. 

Then  Governor's  Bridge.  A  violent  skid,  which 
he  held — then  full  bore  again.  He  had  his  man  now 
— not  ten  yards  separated  them — and  the  remaining 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  his  route  was  straight 
and  tree-lined. 

But  his  rival's  machine  was  still  capable  of  amaz- 
ing speed.  Only  by  squeezing  himself  into  the  small- 
est possible  space  was  he  able  to  lessen  the  wind 
resistance,  and  make  an  impression  on  his  leader. 

Two  hundred  yards  to  the  line ;  and  Jim  had  crept 
up  level  to  Robertson's  back  wheel.  What  a  finish 
for  the  spectators! 

One  hundred  yards  to  go,  and  they  were  riding 
bar  to  bar. 

Then  over  the  line.     The  crowd  rose  to  them  as 


254  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

one  man.     The  most  exciting  finish  ever  seen  to  a 
long-distance  road  race — either  here  or  elsewhere. 

And  few  but  the  judge  could  say  who  was  the 
winner.  But  it  was  Jim — the  victor  by  a  wheel's 
breadth — after  a  last  lap  in  28  minutes,  or,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  uninitiated,  80.9  m.p.h. 


XXV 
ZERO  HOUR 

THE  race  over,  Hunt  lost  sight  of  his  man  in  the 
rush  from  the  stands,  very  few  remaining  seated  to 
see  the  third  man,  Cook,  finish. 

But  the  Inspector  was  not  unduly  worried;  he 
guessed  that  he  would  find  him  amongst  the  crowd 
of  admirers  gathered  around  the  Star  pit. 

He  was  correct  in  this,  as  he  found  when  he  ar- 
rived there.  Pat  Lloyd  was  in  the  front  of  the  crush, 
talking  to  the  excited  manager. 

As  he  watched,  Hunt  saw  him  take  a  card  from 
his  case,  scribble  a  few  words  on  it,  then  hand  it  to 
the  man,  who  pocketed  it  with  a  nod. 

Then,  fearful  of  being  seen,  the  Yard  man  hurried 
back  through  the  crowds  of  aimlessly  wandering 
spectators  to  the  town  and  the  Ceramo  hotel. 

Once  safely  within  the  precincts  of  the  hostelry, 
he  hurried  to  his  room,  where  he  took  up  a  position 
by  the  window  from  which  he  could  see  plainly  all 
who  entered  or  left  by  the  front  door. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  within  five  minutes 
Lloyd  arrived;  alone. 

Only  a  short  time  elapsed  before  the  slamming  of 
a  door  told  him  that  Lloyd  had  been  shown  into  No. 
44,  immediately  below  him,  as  he  had  requested  on 
the  card  he  had  taken  from  the  Boy  Scout. 

Passing  to  his  dressing-table,  Hunt  picked  up  his 

255 


256  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

automatic,  carefully  inspecting  the  mechanism  be- 
fore slipping  half  a  dozen  bullets  into  the  clip  in 
the  butt. 

Then  from  his  bag  he  took  up  his  handcuffs,  drop- 
ping them  into  a  handy  pocket.  His  preparations 
completed,  he  moved  back  to  the  window. 

Again  he  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  flushed  and 
dirty-looking  Jim  Hucklesby  rode  up  on  a  borrowed 
motor-cycle  (his  own  was  being  dismantled  by  the 
A.C.U.  officials  in  accordance  with  the  rules),  which 
he  leaned  against  the  hotel  wall. 

A  moment  later,  and  he,  also,  had  entered  by  the 
front  door. 

Going  back  to  his  dressing-table,  Hunt  dropped 
into  a  chair,  after  clipping  on  his  headphones,  which 
were  connected  to  the  special  dictaphone  already 
mentioned,  and  pulled  down  a  little  switch. 

The  microphone  was,  of  course,  cleverly  hidden  in 
the  room  below.  He  could  hear  Lloyd  quite  plainly 
— he  was  pacing  restlessly  about  the  room. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  a  knock  on  the  door. 
"Come  in,"  called  Lloyd. 

Jim  entered,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 

Lloyd  started  the  conversation.  "Did  I  see  In- 
spector Hunt  here?"  he  asked. 

"Probably,"  replied  Jim.  "He's  here.  If  you 
value  your  life,  you'd  better  leave  at  once." 

"I  shall  leave  to-morrow,"  Lloyd  answered  calmly, 
almost  haughtily,  it  seemed.  "I  have  arranged  to 
see  the  prize-giving.  It'll  take  more  than  an  ad- 
dle-brained Inspector  of  Police  to  deter  me,  I  can 
assure  you.  I'm  Pat  Lloyd,  the  celebrated  airman — 
everyone  knows  that." 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  257 

"Yes,"  agreed  Jim.  "You  certainly  look  the 
part." 

"Look  the  part?  I  like  that."  His  voice  rose. 
"/  am  Lloyd.  For  years  I've  kept  up  my  dual  iden- 
tity— I  guessed  it  would  prove  useful  one  day.  I 
am  well  known  as  Lloyd ;  in  fact,  I  can  call  hundreds 
of  witnesses  to  prove  that  I  am  that  worthy  airman. 
I  am  in  no  danger  whatsoever."  Then,  more  softly 
— "Now  I  suppose  I  must  tell  you  why  I  sent  for 
you. — To  congratulate  you  on  the  splendid  race  you 
rode  to-day." 

•  ••«••• 

The  conversation  was  at  an  end;  Jim  was  taking 
his  leave. 

Hunt  slipped  off  his  'phones  and  tiptoed  to  the 
window. 

The  Senior  winner  came  out  through  the  door, 
looking  somewhat  dazed,  started  up  his  machine,  and 
rode  rapidly  away. 

Zero  hour  for  Hunt  had  arrived. 

Going  softly  back  to  the  dictaphone,  Hunt  started 
it  up.  He  did  not  expect  to  find  it  a  valuable  help 
to  him,  but  he  was  not  taking  any  chances;  if  his 
plans  did  go  wrong,  Scotland  Yard  would  have  a 
complete  record  of  all  that  took  place. 

Then,  passing  to  the  door,  he  stole  out,  tiptoeing 
along  the  corridor  and  down  the  stairs,  then,  even 
more  stealthily,  along  the  passage  to  room  No.  44. 

His  hand  on  the  weapon  in  his  pocket,  he  stooped, 
gluing  his  eye  to  the  keyhole. 

What  he  saw  satisfied  him.  Lloyd  was  sitting  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  room,  back  to  the  door,  read- 
ing a  newspaper. 


258  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

His  arrest  would  be  a  matter  of  the  utmost  ease. 

Rising  to  his  full  height,  Hunt  withdrew  his  au- 
tomatic (not  for  nothing  had  he  already  tested  his 
adversary's  mettle),  slipped  back  the  safety  catch, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

Then,  bracing  himself  to  meet  any  emergency,  he 
flung  open  the  door,  at  the  same  time  advancing  into 
the  room. 

"Sir  Charles  Stafford,"  he  started,  "I—"  But  he 
did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for,  with  a  thud,  some- 
thing struck  him  violently  on  the  back  of  the  head, 
sending  him  sprawling,  an  inert  mass,  on  to  the 
floor. 


XXVI 
CONFESSION 

AFTER  what  seemed  an  eternity,  Hunt  started  to 
recover  consciousness.  Something  cold  and  clammy 
was  wrapped  around  his  forehead,  and,  as  his  senses 
returned,  he  felt  the  trickle  of  water  running  down 
his  face. 

Dazedly  he  attempted  to  lift  his  arm  to  brush  the 
bandage  aside.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  he  could 
not  move  it.  This  discovery,  no  doubt,  hastened  his 
return  to  full  consciousness. 

Dropping  his  head  forward,  he  saw  that  he  was 
bound  hand  t,nd  foot  to  the  chair  in  which  he  was 
seated.  Then,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  sought  his  captor. 

Sir  Charles  Stafford,  alias  Pat  Lloyd,  was  stand- 
ing by  the  fireplace,  watching  him  closely,  an  amused 
expression  in  his  eyes. 

Presently,  seeing  his  victim  had  recovered,  he 
spoke,  slowly  and  deliberately,  weighing  each  word 
before  giving  it  utterance. 

"Yes — you're  quite  right.  I  am  Sir  Charles  Staf- 
ford— the  murderer  of  my  deadliest  enemy,  Dennis 
Evans — the  stealer  of  his  wife — and  the  slayer  of 
Constable  James." 

He  paused  a  moment  before  continuing.  "It 
\vould  have  been  far  better  for  you  though,  Inspec- 
tor, had  you  not  made  your  discovery — it  will  only 
mean  my  adding  to  my  growing  list  of  crimes — for 

259 


260  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

now  I  must  also  become  the  killer  of  Inspector 
Hunt." 

Hunt  started  to  reply.  But  no  words  were  forth- 
coming; he  was  tightly  gagged. 

Sir  Charles,  observing  his  efforts,  moved  towards 
him. 

"I'm  sorry  to  inconvenience  you,"  he  said,  "but 
I'm  afraid  that  for  my  own  safety  you  must  remain 
gagged.  For  all  I  know,  you  may  have  some  more 
of  your  sleuth-hounds  within  call." 

He  thought  for  a  moment.  "Have  you  ?"  he  asked. 
"Answer  me  truthfully,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do 
about  it." 

Hunt  shook  his  head. 

"No,  eh?  Righto.  If  I  take  off  the  gag,  will 
you  give  me  your  word  of  honour  that  you  will  not 
attempt  to  call  for  help?" 

Hunt  nodded  again;  this  time  in  the  affirmative. 

Sir  Charles  moved  nearer  to  him.  "Understand 
this.  If  you  fail  me,  I'll  shoot  you  like  a  dog,  bound 
hand  and  foot  as  you  are." 

He  drew  his  revolver,  covering  the  defenceless  man. 
"Remember,  you're  on  your  honour,"  he  warned 
again.  "If  you  shout,  you'll  be  a  corpse  before  the 
sound  has  had  time  to  leave  the  room." 

Hunt  nodded.  The  situation  was  desperate.  Like 
a  fool,  he  had  blundered  again,  and  fallen  unsus- 
pectingly into  another  trap. 

Sir  Charles  was  removing  the  gag.  "You're  prob- 
ably wondering  how  you  came  to  be  caught  so  easily," 
he  said.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you." 

His  eyes  took  on  an  expression  of  savage  delight. 
"You  see  that  weight  on  the  floor  by  the  door?" 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  261 

Hunt  nodded  again. 

"That's  what  hit  you.  You  see,  I  expected  your 
visit,  so  I  took  the  precaution  of  arranging  a  suit- 
able reception  for  you.  Rather  crude,  I  admit.  A 
mere  schoolboy's  trick — but  effective  nevertheless." 

Hunt  could  but  agree  with  the  truth  of  this  state- 
ment. A  28  Ib.  weight  dropped  from  the  height  of 
some  feet  on  to  a  person's  head  as  he  passes  through 
a  door  can  be  relied  on  to  cause  a  knockout. 

"And,  in  case  you  entertain  any  hopes  of  being 
rescued,  I'll  tell  you  now  that  I  took  the  liberty  of 
locking  the  door  once  I  had  you  safely  inside."  Then 
— as  an  afterthought — he  added,  "If  by  any  chance 
anyone  does  try  to  break  in,  I  shall  have  no  option 
but  to  terminate  your  life  immediately. 

"As  you  may  also  be  wondering  why  I've  kept 
you  alive  to  tell  you  all  this,  it's  only  because  I  feel 
I  owe  you  a  grudge.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  your  in- 
terference, my  poor  Peggy  would  have  been  alive 
to-day.  So  this  afternoon,  when  I  saw  my  chance 
to  delay  your  agony,  I  took  it." 

He  paused  for  a  space.  "I  suppose  you  have  dis- 
covered just  how  I  carried  out  the  murder  of  Dennis 
Evans?"  he  queried. 

Hunt  realised  he  was  fighting  for  time — anything 
he  could  say  to  delay  the  fateful  moment  increased 
his  chance  of  escape. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "to  be  candid,  I'm  puzzled  still. 
I  have  only  an  inkling  of  the  truth." 

"Then,"  Sir  Charles  began  boastingly,  "as  I've  a 
certain  amount  of  admiration  for  your  work,  I'll 
condescend  to  tell  you  how  I  did  it. 

"The  whole  thing  was  pre-arranged,  as,  I  expect 


262  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

you  know.  I've  been  scheming  how  best  I  could  rid 
the  world  of  Evans  for  several  years  past.  But  I'd 
better  start  at  the  very  beginning  I  suppose. 

"As  you  have  undoubtedly  heard,  I  was  studying 
aeronautics  on  the  Continent  after  I  came  down  from 
Oxford. 

"I  was  young  and  irresponsible  in  those  days — 
and,  worst  of  all,  practically  penniless.  Unfortu- 
nately, though,  my  tastes  were  expensive — too  expen- 
sive, I'm  afraid. 

"I  was  rather  heavily  in  debt.  Something  had  to 
be  done,  and  done  quickly.  I  had  to  get  money  some- 
how— either  honestly  or  dishonestly.  It  didn't  mat- 
ter which — as  long  as  I  got  it. 

"I  had  spent  some  hours  in  the  Montmartre  dis- 
trict of  Paris  one  evening,  and  had  got  into  con- 
versation with  a  stranger — rather  a  peculiar  type 
of  man;  he  seemed  in  deadly  fear  of  something  all 
the  evening.  But  he  had  money  to  burn — that  was 
the  great  thing. 

"About  mdinight  we  left  the  place  together.  We 
neither  of  us  had  far  to  go,  as  he  lived  in  the  Rue 
St.  Lazare  and  I  in  the  Rue  de  Lorette.  So  our 
ways  were  the  same  for  part  of  the  walk. 

"After  a  few  minutes  we  came  to  the  Rue  de 
Chateaudun,  where  he  had  to  branch  off  to  the  left. 

"Then,  after  bidding  him  good  night  and  arrang- 
ing to  meet  him  on  the  morrow,  I  set  off  on  the  re- 
maining hundred  yards  or  so  of  my  journey. 

"Hardly  had  I  started,  though,  when  I  heard  a 
shout  for  help  from  my  friend  of  the  cafe. 

"Turning  hurriedly,  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  in 
the  direction  in  which  he  had  departed. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  263 

"I  had  not  far  to  go.  I  found  him,  back  to  a 
doorway,  stoutly  defending  himself  with  his  walk- 
ing-stick against  three  men  whom  I  took  to  be 
Apaches. 

"I  was  always  ready  for  a  scrap  in  those  days — 
nothing  pleased  me  more  than  a  good  rough-and- 
tumble. 

"Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  my  arrival  turned 
the  tide  of  the  battle  (which  had  begun  to  run  badly 
for  my  friend  with  the  walking-stick),  his  attackers 
turning  tail  and  bolting. 

"Then  my  friend,  who,  I  afterwards  learned,  was 
known  as  Monsieur  Dupree,  insisting  that  I  had 
saved  his  life  from  an  attempt  he  had  feared  for 
some  weeks,  made  me  accompany  him  to  his  house 
for  a  'nightcap.' 

"On  the  way  there  he  repeated  again  and  again 
how  indebted  he  was  to  me,  for  without  my  help,  he 
said,  he  would  have  long  since  been  a  corpse.  Then 
he  made  a  startling  statement.  He  would,  as  part 
of  my  reward,  show  me  the  way  to  make  a  fortune — 
a  fortune  beyond  my  wildest  dreams. 

"A  little  later  we  arrived  at  the  house.  It  was  a 
wonderful  place,  furnished  regardless  of  cost,  with 
a  host  of  well-trained  servants  everywhere. 

"He  caught  my  admiring  glance.  'You're  young,' 
he  said  to  me,  'and  you,  also,  could  do  with  great 
wealth  such  as  I  have?' 

"I  assured  him  again  that  I  could  indeed — that  I 
was  at  the  moment  in  deadly  need  of  even  500  francs. 
'If  you  can  show  me  the  way  to  get  even  that,'  I 
said,  'you  will  more  than  repay  me  for  my  help  in 
the  little  affair  we  had  in  the  Rue  St.  Lazare.' 


264  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"  'Wait  a  minute,  my  boy,'  he  replied.  'I  have 
promised  to  do  something  for  you  and  I  will  keep 
my  word.  But  I  must  know  more  of  you  first.  You 
may  not  like  my  scheme,  so  it  would  not  do  for  me 
to  tell  it  to  you  yet.  Tell  me  now  about  yourself — 
all  there  is  to  tell — both  good  and  bad.' 

"I  told  him  everything — of  my  love  of  adventure ; 
my  ambition  to  become  famous  as  an  airman;  my 
insuppressible  love  of  luxury;  my  title,  which  had 
so  far  proved  but  a  millstone  round  my  neck. 

"When  I  had  finished,  he  was  more  than  delighted. 
'You're  my  man  all  right,'  he  said.  'Meet  me  here 
to-morrow  evening  at  eight  o'clock.  I  must  have 
time  to  check  your  statements.' 

"With  that  he  bid  me  au  revoir  and  escorted  me 
to  the  door. 

"I  was  at  his  place  the  next  evening  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour.  He  had  checked  my  statements  and 
appeared  perfectly  satisfied. 

"He  came  straight  to  business.  He  was,  he  said, 
the  head  of  one  of  the  big  international  dope  gangs. 
The  men  from  whom  I  had  helped  him  to  escape 
were  not  Apaches,  but  members  of  a  rival  gang. 

"The  proposition  he  had  to  offer  me  was  briefly 
this.  He  was  finding  it  increasingly  difficult  to  hold 
his  connection  in  England.  The  customs  officers 
wrere  becoming  more  and  more  astute,  and  the  quan- 
tity of  dope  he  could  safely  run  out  into  the  country 
was  decreasing  monthly. 

"With  the  aid  of  my  title  and  education  I  could 
help  him  to  rebuild  the  business.  He  would  furnish 
me  with  enough  capital  to  take  a  house  near  Lon- 
don, and  also  buy  me  a  couple  of  aeroplanes. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  265 

"I  was  to  spend  a  year  in  getting  well  known  as 
a  pilot  before  my  job  began  in  earnest. 

"I  would  then  have  to  take  charge  of  a  celebrated 
London  dope  gang  which  haunted  the  Tottenham 
Court  Road  area.  I  was  to  be  responsible  for  the 
actual  smuggling  of  the  dope,  bringing  it  by  air 
from  various  places  on  the  Continent.  As  I  should 
have  my  own  private  landing-ground,  I  should  be 
able  to  keep  my  movements  secret,  and  so  avoid  trou- 
ble with  the  customs. 

"Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  I  accepted  his 
offer  immediately,  leaving  Paris  within  the  week  to 
take  a  place  at  Harrow. 

"The  remainder  of  that  year  I  spent  in  undertak- 
ing spectacular  flights  and  competing  in  various  air 
races,  which  considerably  added  to  my  prestige — 
and  also,  to  a  certain  extent,  to  my  income. 

"Then  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  dope-running 
proper.  In  a  couple  of  years  I  had  made  a  con- 
siderable pile — this  in  spite  of  my  heavy  expenses, 
for  I  still  kept  up  my  flying. 

"Then  came  the  news  that  Dupree  was  dead — had 
been  murdered,  would  be  more  correct. 

"This  meant  the  splitting  up  of  the  international 
gang  as  we  knew  it — but  it  was  a  red-letter  day  for 
me.  It  meant  that  I  became  the  'boss'  of,  instead  of 
manager  of,  the  English  branch — the  Tottenham 
Court  Road  traffickers. 

"It  was  about  this  time  that  I  first  met  Peggy — 
Mrs.  Evans  as  you  know  her.  She  was  living  in 
Wealdstone — quite  close  to  me.  We  got  very  keen 
on  one  another  right  from  the  start.  If  ever  there 
was  a  case  of  'love  at  first  sight,'  this  was  it. 


266  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"All  was  going  well  until,  one  day  when  I  called 
for  Peggy,  she  refused  to  see  me.  Later  the  same 
day  I  saw  an  announcement  of  her  engagement  to  a 
certain  Dennis  Evans.  I  knew  she  had  been  friendly 
with  the  man  before  I  came  on  the  scene,  but  I 
thought  all  was  over  between  them  long  since. 

"The  announcement  simply  flabbergasted  me ;  but 
worse  was  to  follow. 

"In  the  course  of  my  inquiries  I  found  that  Den- 
nis was  the  head  of  the  notorious  Chelsea  dope  gang. 
And  the  moment  I  heard  that  I  began  to  plan  my 
revenge. 

"Then,  to  cap  everything,  Peggy  brought  him 
round  to  my  place,  suggesting  that  I  should  golf 
with  them. 

"Why  I  eventually  consented  I  can't  say  to  this 
day.  It  must  have  been  solely  because  her  proposal 
offered  me  a  few  more  hours  in  her  company. 

"I  disliked  Dennis  intensely  from  the  very  first 
moment  I  set  eyes  on  him.  It  was  only  natural,  I 
suppose.  I  had  already  prepared  myself  to  hate  him. 

"But  I  did  not  show  it ;  it  suited  my  plans  to  play 
up  to  him.  I  sensed  a  mystery,  and  determined  to 
get  to  the  bottom  of  it. 

"And  so  it  went  on.  One  invitation  led  to  an- 
other. I  gradually  began  to  get  on  more  and  more 
intimate  terms  with  him,  with  either  golf,  or  bridge, 
or  dances,  practically  every  day;  while  he,  in  his 
turn,  became  very  interested  in  flying. 

"Then  came  the  day  of  the  wedding.  By  this 
time  I  was  inwardly  a  seething  volcano — the  slight- 
est excuse  and  I  should  have  broken  out  into  violent 
eruption. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  267 

"I  had  Peggy  to  myself  for  a  few  minutes  just 
before  the  ceremony  (for  the  first  time  since  the  an- 
nouncement of  her  engagement),  and  begged  her  not 
to  go  through  with  the  affair,  for  I  could  see  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  a  breakdown.  But  my  appeal  was 
in  vain — she  resolutely  refused  to  change  her  plans. 

"Then,  the  wedding  over,  I  turned  to  my  old  love, 
the  air,  in  an  endeavour  to  forget  the  past.  But  it 
was  no  good — of  course  I  could  not  forget. 

"So  I  decided  to  end  it  all — hence  my  Australian 
and  Atlantic  flights.  Again  it  was  not  to  be — I  was 
fated  to  win  through. 

"I  had  completely  lost  touch  with  Peggy  now — 
fifteen  months'  absence  can  help  to  cure  the  severest 
heart-ache.  But  I  decided  not  to  return  to  Harrow ; 
it  would  bring  back  too  many  painful  memories. 

"About  this  time  Forest  Court  came  into  the  mar- 
ket. I  liked  the  place  the  moment  I  saw  it,  and,  as 
money  was  no  object,  1  decided  to  purchase  it. 
Within  a  fortnight  I  had  moved  in. 

"A  few  afternoons  later  I  set  off  for  a  round  of 
golf  at  Highcliffe.  Who  should  I  meet  there  but 
Peggy  Evans — alone. 

"She  was  feeling  rather  down,  it  seemed,  and,  to 
my  surprise,  started  to  unburden  her  troubles  to 
me.  Once  she  had  started  she  said  more  than  she 
intended.  In  a  few  minutes  it  all  came  out — the 
reason  of  her  sudden  engagement.  She  had  con- 
sented to  it  to  save  me! 

"It  appeared  that  Dennis  had  discovered  my  con- 
nection with  the  Tottenham  Court  Road  dope  gang 
and  had  gone  to  her  with  irrevocable  proof  of  my 
doings.  He  had  then  threatened  to  hand  this  proof 


268  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

over  to  the  authorities  unless — and  it  was  a  very  big 
unless — unless  she  agreed  to  marry  him. 

"And,  as  you  know,  her  choice  was  marriage — 
sacrificing  herself  to  a  man  she  did  not  love — a  man 
she  probably  even  loathed — all  to  save  me  from  years 
of  imprisonment. 

"In  that  moment  I  saw  everything — saw  how 
Evans  had  become  friendly  with  me  merely  to  keep 
an  eye  on  my  movements — to  blackmail  me  perhaps, 
if  the  opportunity  arose,  and  to  scare  me  out  of 
business. 

"And  there  and  then  I  swore  to  kill  him,  kill  him 
slowly  but  surely — ruin  his  business  as  he  had  ruined 
my  life,  and  finally,  under  the  cloak  of  friendship, 
send  him  to  the  most  terrible  death  I  could  conceive." 


XXVII 
CONFESSION  (continued) 

As  things  turned  out,  it  was  fated  to  be  simple.  The 
Evanses  were  living  within  easy  reach,  so  now  I  was 
able  to  keep  my  eye  on  him. 

"I  had  completely  reorganised  my  gang,  and  I 
am  certain  no  living  man  could  have  connected  me 
with  it ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  that  even  Dennis  believed 
my  story  that  I  had  made  a  fortune  from  my  flights 
— a  true  statement,  I  must  remark  in  passing — and 
had  retired  from  active  business. 

"Without  undue  trouble,  I  managed  to  get  one  of 
the  Chelsea  men  on  my  side.  He  did  not,  at  first, 
like  to  give  his  own  companions  away,  but  the  reward 
I  offered  was  too  tempting  for  him  to  refuse. 

"So,  from  time  to  time,  he  sent  me  names — names 
of  men  the  police  would  catch  red-handed. 

"These  I  gave  to  my  old  friend  and  companion  in 
crime,  Claude  Gascoigne,  who,  posing  as  'Pro  Patria,' 
forwarded  them  to  Scotland  Yard. 

"Evans  stuck  to  his  guns  to  the  last,  I  must  admit ; 
even  although  he  had  long  been  fighting  with  his 
back  to  the  wall. 

"Then,  after  a  two  years'  battle,  came  ruin. 

"Until  now  Peggy  had  not  relished  the  idea  of 
murder — it  was  only  her  fears  for  my  safety  that 
had  prevented  her  from  eloping  with  me  long  before. 

"But  her  husband's  loss  of  his  money  proved  the 

269 


270  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

last  straw.  Like  me,  she  could  not  live  except  in 
luxury.  And,  to  make  her  fight  the  easier,  I  had 
been  spending  money  like  water  each  time  she  was 
in  my  company.  So  she  fell  at  last,  agreeing  to  play 
her  part,  whatever  the  consequences. 

"The  scheme  I  proposed  was  briefly  this.  We 
would  let  the  world  think  I  was  dead — the  result 
of  an  air  accident.  She  too,  and  Dennis,  would  also 
have  been  presumed  to  have  perished  at  the  same 
time. 

"Then,  with  all  three  of  us  officially  dead — and  me 
buried,  with  civic  honours,  maybe,  into  the  bargain — 
we  should  be  free  to  set  up,  under  a  new  name,  as 
man  and  wife,  wherever  we  pleased.  As  I  pointed 
out,  if  we  were  careful  we  should  run  no  risk  what- 
ever. 

"This  simple  little  plot  took  any  amount  of  evolv- 
ing— but  the  reward  was  too  great  to  risk  making 
the  slightest  mistake. 

"For  a  whole  week,  I  worked  night  and  day — but 
at  last  I  had  it  perfect.  For  every  move  we  had  to 
make  I  thought  out  three  alternatives,  so,  if  things 
went  wrong  at  any  stage,  we  should  still  be  able  to 
make  our  get-away  in  comfort. 

"I  arranged  for  Peggy  and  Dennis  to  accompany 
me  on  a  tour  to  the  U.S.A.  By  a  certain  amount  of 
scheming  I  also  arranged  for  us  to  catch  the  Tro- 
ganic  at  Plymouth  at  six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of 
May  the  23rd. 

"After  planning  that  we  should  fly  there,  leaving 
Lymington  at  3  A.M.  or  thereabouts,  and  getting 
Dennis  and  Peggy  to  agree  to  come  to  a  party  at 
my  place  overnight,  the  rest  was  comparatively  easy. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  271 

"Dennis  and  I  were  both  about  the  same  build; 
we  both  wore  identical  ftying  suits — I  had  seen  to 
that  by  changing  my  old  one — and,  most  important 
of  all,  we  both  had  false  teeth. 

"All  I  had  to  do  was  to  get  him  into  a  complete 
change  of  my  clothing,  and  the  trick  was  as  good 
as  done. 

"I  will  not  trouble  you  by  going  into  details  as 
to  how  this  was  accomplished,  but,  briefly,  I  tipped 
him  out  of  a  motor-boat  into  the  lake — myself  as 
well,  for  that  matter." 

"What  time  was  this?"  asked  Hunt,  hoping  to 
lengthen  the  story  which,  he  felt,  was  rapidly  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  If  he  could  only  keep  him  talking, 
all  might  yet  turn  out  well. 

He  could  not  help  recalling  a  slogan  he  had  seen 
stuck  up  in  Whitfield's  office  at  the  Yard:  "When 
you're  feeling  down  in  the  mouth,  think  of  Jonah — 
he  came  out  all  right." 

"Oh — about  10.30,"  answered  his  adversary,  "but 
that  doesn't  really  matter.  The  great  point  was, 
Dennis  had  to  dress  in  my  clothes;  his  had  all  gone 
on  ahead  to  Plymouth — Peggy  saw  to  that. 

"I  had  sent  all  my  servants  to  bed;  there  was  no 
chance  of  this  changing  of  clothing  being  discovered. 

"Then,  on  a  pretext  of  taking  his  wret  things  down 
to  the  kitchen  to  dry,  I  hurried  along  to  the  furnace 
(central  heating  furnace)  and  threw  them  into  it. 

"By  2.30,  the  time  that  the  servants  were  about 
again,  he  had  donned  his  flying  kit,  so  his  borrowed 
suit  was  completely  hidden. 

"Then,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  came  our  first  mistake.  I 
refer  to  the  exchanging  of  suit-cases  by  that  drunken 


272  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

fool  Day.  In  a  way  I  was  hoist  with  my  own  petard 
there,  for  I  drugged  his  drinks  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way  for  a  few  hours. 

"Now  comes  a  little  move  that  I  should  have  men- 
tioned earlier.  After  the  burning  of  Dennis'  clothes 
I  went  up  to  my  research  rooms  in  the  attic — to  the 
room  I  call  my  art  room — I  suppose  you've  inspected 
it? — bringing  down  a  wax  model  of  Peggy's  head 
and  shoulders  that  I  had  made.  Although  it  was  of 
my  own  fashioning,  I  think  I  can  justly  claim  that 
it  was  perfect,  even  to  the  leather  flying  coat-collar 
with  which  I  finished  it  off.  This  I  concealed  in  the 
locker  of  my  'Moth.' 

"Then  I  hurried  up  the  road  to  Mrs.  Thornton's 
house  to  borrow  her  car.  I  was  very  friendly  with 
her,  and  I  had  taken  the  liberty  of  providing  my- 
self with  a  duplicate  key  of  her  garage  lock. 

"I  ran  no  risk,  as  the  road  is  always  deserted  at 
this  hour — and  I  knew  Mrs.  Thornton  was  away. 
In  case  you  think  differently,  I  can  assure  you  that 
I  had  a  reserve  move  up  my  sleeve — had  I  been  un- 
able to  obtain  her  car,  I  should  have  changed  my 
plans  accordingly. 

"However,  I  had  no  trouble,  and  obtained  the 
Singer,  which  I  drove  up  the  Green  Lane,  where  I 
turned  it,  leaving  it  in  readiness. 

"Next,  I  turned  out  the  contents  of  Peggy's  at- 
tache-case, filling  it  instead  with  banknotes. 

"At  this  stage  I'd  better  explain  that,  whenever 
we  were  all  flying  together,  Peggy  insisted  on  trav- 
elling in  my  'plane.  Dennis  had  never  objected  to 
this — he  thought  the  world  of  her,  I  must  admit, 
and  always  let  her  have  her  own  way. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  273 

"This  fact,  as  you  will  see  later,  helped  me  with 
my  plans  considerably;  incidentally,  it  also  helped 
to  confuse  the  police  when  they  set  to  work  to  solve 
the  mystery." 

He  looked  at  Hunt  amusedly.  "I  should  like  to 
know  what  Walker  had  to  say  on  the  subject,  but  I 
must  forgo  the  pleasure — time  presses." 

The  Inspector  winced  involuntarily.  Confound 
the  man !  Why  must  he  keep  reminding  him  of  the 
fact? 

"Now,  to  come  to  our  actual  departure.  Day, 
who  had  recovered  somewhat,  as  I  said,  changed  bags 
with  Peggy — exchanged  a  toothbrush  and  pyjamas 
for  a  quarter  of  a  million  in  hard  cash. 

"The  loss  alone,  though  serious,  would  not  have 
hindered  us  much — it  only  meant  us  going  to  the 
trouble  of  getting  more.  I'm  sure,  though,  that  if 
Peggy  had  not  been  so  excited  and  nervous  she  would 
have  noticed  the  lightness  of  her  bag  and  remedied 
matters. 

"After  we  had  taxied  out  of  the  hangar,  I  man- 
aged to  pass  Dennis  and  get  to  the  turning-point  on 
the  other  side  of  the  park  some  time  before  him.  Not 
that  it  mattered  much ;  it  was  quite  dark  behind  the 
landing-light.  Bailey  could  not  see  what  was  going 
on  there. 

"As  I  said,  I  arrived  first.  Peggy  immediately 
climbed  out,  ran  to  the  power-shed  where  we  gen- 
erate the  electric  current  for  this  part  of  the  estate 
— I  had  instructed  her  what  to  do  beforehand — and 
pulled  up  the  main  switch,  plunging  the  park  into 
darkness. 


274  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"By  this  time  Dennis  had  also  taxied  up.  Every- 
thing was  ready  for  me  to  stage  my  fade-out. 

"Walking  quickly  over  to  him,  I  hit  him  on  the 
head  with  a  short,  iron  bar.  If  you  were  free  to  go 
and  search,"  he  added  tauntingly,  "you'd  probably 
discover  it  lying  in  some  furze-bushes  not  far  from 
the  power-house,  for  that's  where  I  threw  it  after  it 
had  served  its  purpose.  But  as  you're  not — and  not 
likely  to  be — I'm  only  wasting  time  by  mentioning 
the  fact. 

"Of  course,  my  blow  only  stunned  him — I  did  not 
intend  to  let  him  die  without  experiencing  the  agony 
I  had  planned  for  him. 

"So  then  I  dragged  him  unceremoniously  from  his 
'plane,  immediately  starting  to  turn  out  the  con- 
tents of  his  pockets. 

"As  soon  as  I  had  finished,  a  few  things  I  always 
carried  went  in  the  place  of  the  things  I  had  re- 
moved— my  watch,  wallet,  keys,  handkerchief,  and 
one  or  two  other  odds  and  ends  that,  I  see,  you  did 
not  even  trouble  to  produce  at  the  inquest,  so  sure 
were  you  that  the  body  was  mine. 

"Then,  quickly,  I  pulled  out  his  false  teeth.  Ex- 
tracting my  own  unusual  set — I  had  another  plain 
set  close  at  hand  to  replace  them — I  pushed  them 
into  his  mouth.  Next,  I  strapped  an  old,  spare  para- 
chute round  his  body — and  the  unconscious  man  was 
ready  for  the  end.  All  that  remained  for  me  to  do 
was  to  drag  him  to  the  'Moth,'  and  drop  him  in  the 
front  seat. 

"Then,  going  back  to  the  monoplane,  I  carefully 
set  the  controls.  And,  after  making  sure  that  every- 
thing was  all  right,  I  opened  the  throttle,  sending 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  275 

it  off  on  its  own  in  the  manner  of  a  schoolboy's  model. 

"I  had  flown  the  'plane  many  times  myself,  and 
I  felt  sure  that  it  would  take  off  safely — but  I  must 
confess  it  was  rather  a  nerve-racking  moment  for 
me;  if  it  should  crash,  it  would  be  sealing  Bailey's 
death-warrant." 

He  looked  at  Hunt  queerly.  "You  see,  from  the 
beginning  I  determined  to  stop  at  nothing.  I  had 
so  much  to  gain  and  so  little  to  lose.  If,  as  I  have 
said,  the  'plane  had  crashed  before  leaving  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  park,  Bailey  would,  almost  certainly, 
have  run  over  to  the  wreckage. 

"When  he  had  discovered,  as  he  was  bound  to  dis- 
cover, that  Dennis  was  not  in  the  cockpit,  it  would 
have  meant  either  silencing  him,  or  years  of  black- 
mail, or  even  imprisonment.  As  you'll  probably 
agree,  silencing  him  would  have  been  by  far  the  best 
of  the  alternatives." 

He  ruminated  for  a  moment  on  the  method  of  the 
silencing.  "I  could  easily  have  stunned  him,  as  I 
had  Dennis,  and  placed  them  both  amongst  the  debris 
before  putting  a  match  to  it.  It  would  have  been  all 
over  in  a  few  seconds. 

"  'Bailey,'  the  papers  would  have  said,  'died  a 
hero,  sacrificing  his  life  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  save 
Mr.  Evans.'  I  might  even  have  dedicated  a  bed  to 
his  memory  in  the  local  hospital."  He  laughed  at 
the  thought. 

"But  I'm  wandering.  The  necessity  did  not  arise. 
The  'plane  took  off  perfectly,  Peggy,  of  course, 
switching  off  the  light  at  the  main  so  that  Bailey 
was  unable  to  see  that  the  'plane  was  empty. — I 
omitted  to  mention  that  she  could  time  her  actions 


276  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

perfectly,  as  there  is  a  little  window  on  the  park  side 
of  the  shed,  through  which  she  could  see  me  more 
or  less  clearly,  as  I  was  between  her  and  the  bril- 
liant beam  of  the  landing-light. 

"Then  came  my  turn.  Just  before  I  got  to  the 
illuminated  portion  of  the  park,  Peggy  played  her 
part  once  more.  This  gave  me  the  opportunity  to 
turn  back,  and  go  over  and  curse  Bailey — the  noise 
of  my  exhaust,  coupled  with  the  violence  of  my  lan- 
guage, distracting  his  attention  from  the  sound  of 
Peggy  starting  the  Singer  in  the  Green  Lane. 

"Of  course,  Bailey  swore  at  the  inquest  that  Peggy 
was  then  in  the  'plane. — He  was  completely  deceived 
by  my  wax  effigy  of  her,  which  I  had  pushed  over 
the  head  of  her  unconscious  husband. — He  even 
swore  he  saw  me  speak  to  her — what  he  didn't  notice, 
poor  boob,  was  that  she  didn't  reply. 

"Next  time,  of  course,  I  took  off  in  fine  style ;  the 
light  remaining  on  to  let  Bailey  see  the  flowing  hair 
of  my  model,  and  assume  Peggy  was  still  in  her  place. 

"I  flew  inland  for  a  few  minutes  after  getting  clear 
of  Lymington,  to  give  Peggy  time  to  get  to  Totland 
Corner.  Then,  when  I  saw  by  her  headlights  that 
she  had  reached  Highcliffe,  I  manoeuvred  the  'plane 
until  I  was  over  the  meadow  the  papers  refer  to  as 
Angels. 

"It  was  my  plan  now  to  set  the  'plane  on  fire, 
escape  myself  by  parachute — I  always  carry  one, 
except  when  I'm  flying  over  the  sea — and  leave  my 
half -unconscious  victim  to  perish  in  the  flames. 

"I  had  hoped  that  the  torture  of  the  blazing  petrol 
would  arouse  him  somewhat  before  the  end — giving 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  277 

him  time  to  enjoy  his  roasting — but  not  time  to  allow 
him  to  attempt  to  jump. 

"Unfortunately,  again  my  plans  miscarried.  He 
must  have  long  since  recovered  consciousness, 
and,  recognising  the  seriousness  of  his  position,  was 
quietly  awaiting  his  chance  to  make  a  fight  for  life. 

"My  idea  was  to  take  the  effigy  of  Peggy  from 
his  head  and  place  it  in  my  cockpit.  This  would 
prevent  it  melting  over  Dennis'  face,  where  it  would 
perhaps  have  left  traces. — Also,  guarded  by  the  pro- 
tecting film  of  wax,  his  features  would  undoubtedly 
have  been  saved  from  much  of  the  certain  disfigure- 
ment in  the  inevitable  crash. 

"But,  as  I  say,  he  had  already  recovered  full  con- 
sciousness. 

"As  I  pulled  the  effigy  off  and  dropped  it  at  my 
feet,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  attacking  me  savagely. 

"It  was  all  over  quite  quickly.  He  was  weak  from 
the  effects  of  his  blow,  and  I  had  time  to  draw  my 
revolver.  One  shot  settled  the  affair. 

"As  my  petrol  tanks  were  filled  to  their  full  capac- 
ity, I  didn't  worry  much,  as  I  knew  that  in  all  prob- 
ability his  remains  would  be  so  charred  that  the 
bullet-wound  would  pass  undetected. 

"Then  I  fired  the  'plane  and  jumped,  leaving  the 
blazing  machine  to  crash  when  and  where  it  liked 
between  Angels  and  the  sea. 

"My  leap  was  a  success — the  parachute  opened 
without  trouble.  I  landed  in  the  far  corner  of 
Angels,  the  cows  stampeding  like  wildfire  in  their 
fright. 

"Here  I  folded  my  parachute.  There  was  little 
wind,  so  the  task  was  easy. 


278  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

"Then  I  walked  across  the  meadow  towards  Tot- 
land  Corner — hence  the  single  set  of  footprints." 

It  was  evident  to  Hunt  that  Sir  Charles  had  been 
keeping  in  close  touch  with  the  case  through  the 
papers. 

"Then,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  I  was  challenged  by  Con- 
stable James.  He  knew  me,  of  course,  so  it  was  im- 
perative to  the  success  of  my  scheme  that  he  be 
silenced. 

"After  making  sure  that  he  was  dead,  I  continued, 
down  by  the  hedge,  to  Totland  Corner.  A  moment 
later  Peggy  arrived  with  the  car.  Our  plans  by  now 
were  practically  assured  of  a  successful  conclusion — 
all  that  remained  to  be  done  was  fix  our  make-up. 

"We  drove  to  Peggy's  summer  bungalow  on  the 
banks  of  the  Avon,  and  there,  after  helping  her  to 
become  a  pretty  brunette,  I  was  transformed  tem- 
porarily into  Dennis  Evans,  in  case  of  accidents. 

"As  it  happened,  it  was  a  wise  move,  for  the 
garage  man,  I  understand,  identified  me  as  Evans. 

"Then,  following  a  carefully  planned  route,  we 
reached  the  village  of  Hanley. 

"Almost  immediately  after  our  arrival  we  discov- 
ered the  loss  of  our  money.  Although  not  terribly 
serious,  it  was  a  most  regrettable  occurrence.  I  de- 
cided to  make  an  attempt  to  retrieve  it. 

"Hence  my  appearance  at  my  own  inquest  where 
I  hoped  to  learn  what  had  become  of  our  missing 
suit-case  besides  ascertaining  whether  any  suspicions 
had  arisen  with  regard  to  the  identity  of  the  body 
found  in  the  'plane. 

"Then,  hearing  no  reference  to  the  finding  of  the 
money,  I  thought  there  was  just  a  chance  that  Day 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  279 

had  discovered  his  mistake  before  leaving  my  place, 
and  that  the  bag  had  been  left  at  Forest  Court,  un- 
opened. That  evening  I  returned  to  Lymington, 
disguised  as  my  cousin,  Henry  Sandleson,  who  is,  I 
hear,  under  the  impression  that  he  is  a  baronet. 

"I  took  Sturman  in  well,  my  little  experience  of 
this  kind  of  thing  standing  me  in  good  stead. — But 
the  money,  I  found,  was  not  on  the  premises.  Dis- 
appointed, I  returned  to  Hanley,  as  I  had  come,  in 
Mr.  Watkin's  car. 

"Later,  of  course,  came  the  second  tragedy  of  my 
life — the  loss  of  my  poor  Peggy — a  loss  for  which, 
Inspector,  I,  rightly  or  wrongly,  hold  you  responsible 
— a  loss  for  which  I  have  condemned  you  to  death. 

"After  this  terrible  catastrophe  I  decided  to  fall 
back  on  my  last  line  of  defence — to  appear  again 
openly  as  Pat  Lloyd,  the  racing  airman,  the  role  I 
had  created  as  a  bolt-hole  in  my  early  days  with  the 
dope  gang. 

"I  thought  in  this  I  was  secure — how  you  found 
me  out  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  imagine." 

"Quite  by  accident,"  replied  Hunt.  "I  happened 
to  gaze  into  the  window  of  a  ladies'  hairdressers." 

"A  ladies'  hairdressers.  I  don't  see  the  connec- 
tion." 

Despite  the  thin  thread  by  which  his  life  was  hang- 
ing, Hunt  laughed.  "In  this  particular  window 
there  happened  to  be  a  lifesize  wax  model  of  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  a  woman.  That  immediately 
suggested  that  Mrs.  Evans  wasn't  in  your  'plane  at 
all." 

"But  then — why  did  you  come  to  the  Island?" 

"Well — it's  rather  a  difficult  question  to  answer 


280  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

but  I  fully  expected  you'd  be  here  to  see  Jim  ride. 
And  I  knew  that  if  he  won  you  wouldn't  be  able  to 
resist  congratulating  him  in  person.  That's  all  there 
is  to  it.  He  won,  and  you  sent  for  him.  My  deduc- 
tions were  correct." 

"Clever.  Damned  clever,"  conceded  Sir  Charles. 
"But  now,  I  repeat,  time  presses.  I'm  afraid  I  must 
bring  this  farce  to  an  end." 

He  looked  at  his  revolver.  "I've  never  used  a 
silencer  in  so  small  a  room  before — I  suppose  it  will 
be  effective?" 

"Quite,"  replied  Hunt  quietly.  "It  will  make  less 
noise  than  the  drawing  of  a  champagne  cork."  As 
he  spoke  he  was  looking  beyond  Sir  Charles  to  the 
door.  Was  he  mistaken,  or  did  the  knob  move 
slightly  ?  No,  it  was  no  mistake — the  knob  was  mov- 
ing. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  continued.  "Don't  think 
I'm  afraid  to  die — I'm  not — but,  before  I  do,  I'd 
like  to  know  what  made  Gascoigne  give  his  own  men 
away  to  Scotland  Yard.  Your  name  was  included, 
you  know." 

Sir  Charles  smiled.  "That  was  purely  for  our  own 
convenience.  Gascoigne  had  taken  over  the  gang — 
I  had  no  further  use  for  it — I  was  quitting  the  game 
for  good.  He  imagined  that  these  men  were  being 
too  closely  watched  by  the  police,  and,  fearing  that 
they  might  be  arrested  any  minute,  to  prevent  any 
danger  to  himself  he  decided  to  dispose  of  them  all 
at  one  foul  swoop. 

"You  see,  he  thought  it  would  place  him  above 
suspicion,  and  at  the  same  time  give  confirmation — 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  281 

should  any  be  needed — of  my  demise.  In  plain  Eng- 
lish, it  was  a  put-up  job. 

"I  can  hardly  credit  it  myself,  but  Gascoigne  tells 
me  that  the  reverse  has  actually  been  the  result. 
Since  the  arrests,  he  has  had  more  police  attention 
than  ever." 

"Then  you  mean  Gascoigne  knew  of  your  mur- 
derous plans?"  Hunt  queried  boldly,  his  eyes  once 
more  straying  to  the  door. 

It  had  started  to  open  now.  Sir  Charles  was  still 
standing  back  to  it,  totally  unaware  of  his  impend- 
ing danger. 

"Yes.  He  knew.  He  was  what  you  call  in  your 
police  jargon  'an  accessory  after  the  fact.'  But 
what  difference  does  that  make,  pray  may  I  ask?" 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world.  He'll  have  to 
stand  with  you  on  the  scaffold.  You  don't  really 
think  you're  going  to  get  away  with  this,  do  you?" 
asked  Hunt,  still  in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "Granted, 
you  will  kill  me — but  don't  you  think  the  Yard  knows 
now  whose  body  was  actually  in  the  blazing  'Moth'? 
Don't  you  think  too  that  the  police  of  the  world  are 
on  the  look-out  for  Sir  Charles  Stafford,  alias  Pat 
Lloyd,  the  racing  airman — a  double  murderer?" 

"Possibly,"  granted  the  baronet,  with  a  laugh — 
still  unaware  that  the  door  was  more  than  half  open, 
and  that,  framed  in  the  aperture,  stood  Jim  Huck- 
lesby,  a  heavy  stick  in  his  hand.  "But  don't  you 
think  I  shall  counteract  these  plans?" 

"In  a  few  hours'  time  I  shall  bear  no  more  re- 
semblance to  either  Sir  Charles  Stafford  or  Pat  Lloyd 
than  you  do." 


282  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

His  voice  changed.  "I'm  sorry,  Inspector.  Now 
you've  told  me  so  much  it  will  perhaps  be  wisest  for 
me  to  hurry."  Then,  more  gently — "Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  close  your  eyes?" 

"No,"  replied  Hunt.  "I  prefer  to  die  with  them 
open,  like  a  man." 

"As  you  will,  Inspector,"  his  torturer  said,  start- 
ing to  raise  the  weapon.  "I  too  should  prefer  it  that 
way.  Now,"  he  added  callously,  "just  think  what 
my  poor  Peggy  must  have  thought  as  she  crashed 
through  those  level-crossing  gates :  'A  moment  more 
and  I  shall  have  crossed  the  Vale.'  " 

But  even  as  he  spoke  two  things  happened,  both 
of  which  coupled  together  helped  to  change  the  con- 
ventional ending  to  a  murder  case. 

One  was  that  Inspector  Hunt  fainted — whether 
from  relief,  or  the  after-effects  of  his  blow,  it  is  hard 
to  say;  and  the  other — simply  that  Jim  sprang. 


XXVIII 
EXPIATION 

THIS  time  Hunt  recovered  consciousness  more 
quickly.  He  could  almost  have  cried  for  joy  when 
he  saw  Sir  Charles  lying  unconscious  on  the  floor. 

Jim,  he  noticed,  was  stooping  down,  bathing  the 
bleeding  wound.  Apparently  Sir  Charles  had  turned 
at  the  last  moment,  catching  the  blow  on  his  unpro- 
tected forehead. 

"Bravo,"  shouted  the  Inspector,  or,  rather,  the 
Inspector  attempted  to  shout,  for  again  no  sound 
passed  his  lips.  The  gag  had  been  slipped  into  his 
mouth  once  more. 

This  time  it  was  obvious  that  Jim  was  to  blame. 
Seeing  the  Yard  man  had  recovered,  he  looked  up. 

"Sorry,  Inspector,"  he  began.  "I  must  apologise 
for  my  ungentlemanly  conduct,  but  I  can't  have  you 
interfering.  This  is  my  affair  now.  I've  pulled  you 
out  of  a  tight  corner,  and  that's  as  much  as  you  can 
expect." 

Without  another  glance  at  the  irate  Inspector,  he 
turned  his  attention  again  to  the  unconscious  man. 

For  some  moment  he  worked  in  silence,  applying 
bandage  after  bandage.  At  last  his  efforts  were  re- 
warded ;  Sir  Charles  began  to  stir. 

His  amazing  vitality  soon  pulled  him  round. 
"What  has  happened?"  he  gasped,  staring  in  aston- 
ishment at  the  still  bound  and  gagged  Inspector- 

283 


284  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

Then,  glancing  aside,  he  saw  Jim — a  white-faced, 
stern-looking  Jim,  armed  with  his  own  revolver,  the 
business  end  of  which  was  pointing  menacingly  in 
his  direction.  "Don't  move — stay  where  you  are  if 
you  value  your  life,"  the  lad  ordered. 

Sir  Charles,  who  had  been  on  the  point  of  rising, 
obeyed. 

Jim  spoke  again.  "I  shall  give  you  ten  minutes 
to  get  over  the  effects  of  your  knock-out — you'd  bet- 
ter make  good  use  of  it.  Remember,  you  are  not  to 
move  or  speak." 

Going  back  to  a  chair,  where  he  could  wait  in  com- 
fort and  at  the  same  time  cover  his  man,  Jim  pulled 
out  his  watch. 

Slowly  the  hand  crept  forward.  The  ticking  of 
the  timepiece  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the 
silence  of  the  room. 

Presently  Jim  stood  up,  replaced  his  watch,  and 
spoke  again. 

"Mr.  Lloyd,"  he  said  deliberately,  "are  you  feel- 
ing better  now?" 

"Yes,  thanks,"  Sir  Charles  replied.  "I'm  feel- 
ing O.K." 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  asked  Jim. 

"By  'plane,"  answered  Sir  Charles. 

"Where  is  your  'plane?" 

"Not  far  from  here — by  the  back  of  the  grand 
stand." 

"Right.  Now,  Mr.  Lloyd,  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  unless  I  was  heavily  indebted  to  you  I 
shouldn't  be  doing  this. 

"My  motor-cycle  is  outside.  It's  less  than  five 
minutes'  ride  to  your  'plane.  To  cover  accidents, 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  285 

I'll  allow  you  seven.  I'm  giving  you  a  sporting 
chance.  In  seven  minutes  exactly  I  shall  release  In- 
spector Hunt.  You  know  what  that'll  mean — five 
minutes  later  the  police  of  the  world  will  be  warned. 
Now  go — take  my  motorcycle — don't  thank  me — gro, 
while  the  going's  good." 

Sir  Charles  had  risen  to  his  feet,  facing  Jim. 
"Thanks,"  he  said.  "You're  a  sport.  Now  listen. 
One  good  turn  deserves  another.  Before  I  came 
over  here  I  took  the  precaution  of  drawing  up  a 
will.  As  you  know,  I  have  no  relatives — that  is, 
relatives  I  care  for.  You  are  the  sole  beneficiary 
under  this  will.  It  is  lodged  with  Barclays  Bank, 
Liverpool — in  the  name  of  Lloyd.  Once  again  I 
thank  you.  Good-bye." 

A  moment  later  he  had  gone,  leaving  the  Inspec- 
tor more  livid  with  rage  than  ever.  But  as  he  passed 
through  the  door  Hunt  noticed  him  glance  hard  at 
the  useless  lock.  What  a  slip  he  had  made!  The 
most  casual  inspection  would  have  revealed  the  fact 
that  the  steel  bolt  had  been  sawn  off  flush  with  the 
door  edge. 

Again  Jim  glanced  at  his  watch. 

In  vain  the  angry  Inspector  squirmed  in  his  chair, 
squirmed  till  the  cord  cut  deep  into  his  flesh. 

But  Jim  neither  moved  nor  spoke  until  the  full 
seven  minutes  had  elapsed.  Then,  moving  over  to 
Hunt,  he  began,  "I  suppose  I  must  place  myself 
under  arrest,  Inspector?  But  before  I  do  so  I'm 
going  to  ask  you  not  to  get  too  excited  for  a  few  min- 
utes. Mr.  Lloyd  will  take  a  good  half-hour  to  reach 
land.  By  that  time,  even  if  you  take  things  calmly, 
all  stations  will  have  been  warned.  That's  all." 


286  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

As  he  removed  the  gag,  Hunt  gave  vent  to  his 
passion.  "You  damned  little  fool,"  he  started  wildly, 
"you've  done  something  clever  this  time,  to  be  sure !" 

Jim  remained  calm.  "So  saving  your  life  was 
'something  clever,'  was  it?" 

Hunt's  anger  cooled  somewhat.  "I'm  sorry,"  he 
said,  "but  nevertheless  I'm  afraid  you  must  consider 
yourself  under  arrest  on  a  charge  of  obstructing  the 
police  in  the  execution  of  their  duties." 

"As  you  wish,"  replied  Jim  quietly. 

The  bonds  were  nearly  off  when  the  sound  of  an 
aeroplane  engine  could  be  heard  in  the  distance. 

"Shall  we  go  outside  a  minute?"  suggested  Jim. 
"He's  coming  over." 

"Yes,"  assented  Hunt  bitterly.  "We  might  as 
well  see  the  last  of  him." 

•  •••••• 

Sir  Charles  Stafford,  after  leaving  the  room  in 
which  he  had  so  narrowly  missed  committing  an- 
other murder,  found  Jim's  motor-cycle  propped  up 
outside  the  hotel. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  he  had  started  it, 
and  was  off  on  his  short  run  to  the  field  in  which 
he  had  left  the  'plane. 

Although  he  knew  that  he  had  only  seven  minutes 
to  spare  before  the  hue  and  cry  for  him  began,  it 
was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  he  did  not  hurry. 
He  could  not  be  really  frightened  by  anything  on 
earth. 

Six  minutes  had  passed  before  he  reached  the  field 
and  climbed  into  his  'plane. 

The  machine  was  fitted  with  a  self-starter.     The 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  287 

engine  woke  to  life  immediately.  As  his  nose  was 
already  pointing  into  the  wind,  he  was  able  to  take 
off  straight  away. 

Giving  his  engine  plenty  of  throttle,  he  taxied 
rapidly  up  the  field,  the  mad  rush  of  the  wind  past 
his  cheeks  clearing  his  aching  head. 

A  few  moments  later  he  had  left  the  ground  and 
was  racing  towards  Douglas  and  the  sea. 

After  his  initial  rise  of  a  hundred  feet  or  so  he 
kept  the  controls  in  a  central  position,  seemingly 
missing  the  housetops  by  a  hair's-breadth — a  chal- 
lenge to  Hunt,  and,  did  he  but  know  it,  a  challenge 
to  fate. 

Over  the  harbour  he  started  to  rise — 200,  300, 
400,  500,  and  soon  2,000  feet.  Then,  when  the 
watching  crowds  thought  he  had  taken  his  spec- 
tacular leave  of  the  island,  he  turned — turned  to 
give  a  last  salute  to  Jim. 

Once  again  the  harbour  was  far  below  him;  the 
departing  Mona,  which  had  just  left  the  quay,  ap- 
peared but  the  smallest  model. 

Then,  pushing  his  stick  right  forward,  he  started 
the  steep  dive  with  which  he  always  preceded  a  loop. 

And  in  the  moment  he  attempted  to  pull  his  nose 
up  he  knew  his  fate  was  sealed.  For  the  stick  re- 
fused to  move ;  it  was  stuck — stuck  in  a  position  that 
forced  his  machine  seawards  with  ever-increasing 
speed. 

Desperately  he  tried  to  shut  off  the  engine. — But 
the  throttle  was  immovable;  someone  had  tampered 
with  the  controls — someone  had  deliberately  planned 
to  send  him  to  his  doom,  as  he  himself  had  planned 
to  send  Evans. 


288  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

And  in  that  fraction  of  a  second  the  malignity  of 
his  crimes  came  home  to  him — his  actions  of  the  past 
few  years  passed  rapidly  in  unwholesome  review  be- 
fore him. 

How  he  regretted  the  absence  of  a  parachute — 
remembered  how  he  had  boasted  that  he  never  car- 
ried one  when  flying  over  water,  as  in  a  accident  it 
would  prove  only  a  hindrance. 

But  even  as  that  fleeting  vision  passed  he  had  time 
to  realise  that  what  he  might  gain  on  the  round- 
abouts he  would  only  lose  on  the  swings — even  a 
parachute  would  not  save  him  from  Inspector  Hunt 
— and  the  gallows. 

The  sea  was  very  close  now.  Instinct  compelled 
him  to  attempt  to  leap.  But  he  had  left  it  too  late. 

Before  he  could  move,  even  slightly,  the  'plane  hit 
the  water — and  the  last  earthly  thing  he  saw  before 
he  was  plunged  for  ever  beneath  the  fleck-tipped 
waves  of  Douglas  Harbour  was  the  hand  of  his  air- 
speed indicator.  And  that  hand  was  tightly  pressed 
against  the  stop  by  the  highest  speed  indicated  on 
the  dial — a  speed  of  200  miles  per  hour. 

Hunt  and  Jim  stood  outside  the  Ceramo,  rooted 
to  the  pavement,  watching  a  cascade  of  water,  that 
had  been  flung  skywards  by  the  last  death-dealing 
dive  of  the  'plane,  descend  again  into  the  harbour. 

For  some  moments  after  the  last  foam-frothed 
ripple  had  vanished  neither  spoke. 

It  was  Jim  who  broke  the  silence.  "Am  I  still 
under  arrest?"  he  asked. 

Hunt  considered  for  a  moment. 


THE  "MOTH"  MURDER  289 

"No,"  he  replied  at  length,  "  I  think  not— but 
remember,"  he  added  smilingly,  "I  have  a  full  con- 
fession recorded  on  a  dictaphone,  if  I  ever  want  to 
use  it." 

He  could  afford  to  smile  now.  His  most  difficult 
case  was  ended — ended,  too,  in  the  pleasantest  way 
for  all  concerned. 

"Although  you're  not  under  arrest,  there's  one 
think  you  are — though  so  far  you  don't  seem  to  have 
realised  it." 

"What's  that?"  questioned  Jim  wonderingly. 

"Practically  a  millionaire,"  was  Hunt's  reply.  "If 
you  ever  manage  to  trace  all  Sir  Charles'  accounts, 
you'll  probably  find  yourself  quite  a  millionaire." 

They  started  to  move  back  to  the  hotel;  Jim  to 
get  washed  in  readiness  for  the  prize-giving,  Hunt 
to  attend  to  his  dictaphone. 

In  the  hall,  the  Yard  man  halted.  "I  must  leave 
you  here,"  he  said.  "I've  just  remembered  I've  a 
telegram  to  send."  He  held  out  his  hand  in  fare- 
well. "In  case  I've  left  by  the  time  you  return." 

Jim  grasped  it  warmly.  "I  shall  certainly  look 
you  up,  Inspector,  when  you  get  back  to  Town,"  he 
promised. 

"Do,"  replied  Hunt  with  enthusiasm.  "I'll  show 
you  round  the  Yard  and  let  you  see  the  dreadful  fate 
of  those  misguided  persons  who  are  stupid  enough 
to  obstruct  the  police  in  the  execution  of  their 
duties." 

He  started  to  move  away.  After  a  couple  of  paces 
he  stopped,  turned,  and  faced  Jim.  "You  know," 
he  began,  "I  shall  often  wonder  in  the  years  that  are 


290  THE  "MOTH"  MURDER 

to  come  just  what  caused  Sir  Charles'  'plane  to  crash 
at  the  psychological  moment  it  did." 

He  proceeded  a  few  paces  nearer  to  the  telephone, 
then  stopped,  and  turned  again.  "But  somehow  I 
don't  think  I'm  going  to  let  myself  wonder  too  hard." 


DO 


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RARIEb 

WEEKS 


